
FT MEADE 
GenCo 1 1 

































»•. V •- V’* 

. . ■ ■ ■ 

■ « ‘‘ ’*' ‘ '■* - '■•C? '* ^ /^* '■ ' - ’*■•■' 

u ' 1 . / * • Ti*** r‘' •• 

-; • ; ■ • .'■■ -• .-*../ 

. • ••/ /. "-y - ' a ■• ‘•. - /- . 



'e 


; * > 


t • 




<ii*- 




•'tt. .' • 

‘T/ '■ "-i-'y- ^ • 

r. \*r ■ '• <<■ V '• 


» ,• 


« 

f 4 ' 


■ ” . - *. ■ •:.r; 

J:rv^ '■■'•••- •*’ » • ' ' ■ - ■ “.' •■' • ■' r '- > ■••*.■> V." •' * 

* • . * . r -■ • *„ * . ' ' *»••.», ' • . * 

.-V'rV.., ^ 

u ■- ‘ ■■■ ,.v. ■■.^■•'■‘ -•■.>-:. .'' 5 > 

f'* ’ *1^ v.' - ' '« ^ ’ '■ .* ■‘' •*' ' ' v*»'‘ ^ w*-* 



't 
V t 


H tv, 
'. ..V-v 


* • * 

V '■: • 

•» 


•*./ .* ’ ^ ' 

k.,< 

• ■ ■* - 


•» > 
••a- 



1 I 



rT^ 


• t 

'>T". 


A 





















• 




4 






» ri 




t 


ft 




t 




I 

* 

» I 





• ft 


1 


'ft 




♦ 1 



» . ft . 


ft 


r 


ft 






I 




I'- 



4 












t 









CONSIDERATIONS.” 


BY 

MRS. C. F. EASTON. 




, JA! 


N 


^ 4 - 




‘In the day of adversity, consider.” 

—Eccle., vii. 14. 


“ lie shall judge tlie poor of the people; 

He shall save the children of the needy, 

And shall break in pieces the oppressor.” 

—Psalms^ btxii. 4. 


NEW YORK. 

JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER, 

1894. 


We are sorry to say there is seemingly a misrepresentation 
in this work, as the circulars announced a book of about 260 
pages, while in reality it falls short. 

’ It is impossible for publishers to estimate the exact number 
of pages a manuscript will make ; hence the mistake. 

> We hope the general worth and interest embodied within 
ithis work may in a measure atone for the deficiency in pages. 

Yours sincerely, The Author. 


t 


Copyright, 1894 , 

BY 

MRS. C. F. EASTON. 


( 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 1. 

PAGE. 

The Little Would-be Red Cottage 9 

CHAPTER II. 

d’he Stoney Family. Angie Hart 14 

V CHAPTER III. 

Bad News from Colorado 22 

CHAPTER IV. 

Myrtle Visits the Maxwells 28 

CHAPTER V. 

Stoney Mansion Lighted 36 

CHAPTER VI. 

Mrs. Springer is Coming! 47 

CHAPTER VIL 

Effects Upon Mrs. Stoney 55 

CHAPTER VIIL 

Hanner (Hannah) Arrives 63 

CHAPTER IX. 

.Airs. Stoney ’s Sickness 70 

CHAPTER X. 

Stoney Mansion in Mourning 81 

CHAPTER XL 

'Die Funeral 86 

CHAPTER XII. 

Myrtle A^iews the Gymnasium 97 

CHAPTER XIII. 

At Work in the Store 105 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Festivities. Considerations 112 


4 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

CHAPTER XV, 

Amelia Freeman, of New York ' 118 

(TIAPTER XVI. 

Plans 126 

CHAPTER XV 11. 

The Exit 135 

CHAPTER XVIIL 

Down the Hudson 148 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Retrospect at Stoney Mansion 149 

CHAPTER XX. 

In Woodland but not Heaven 155 

CHAPTER XXL 

To Calvary 164 

CHAPTER XXII. 

“Peace, Be Still.” 171 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Traces of “ My Boy.” 177 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Richard Baxter at Stoney Mansion 183 

CHAPTER XXV. 

.Jane Harper 191 

CHAPTER XXVI. ^ 

Myrtle Visits Paterson, N. J 197 

CHAPTER XXVIl. 

Thos. Stoney’s $10,000 Investment 204 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

l^hebe Goes to Sleep. Harvest Home 209 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

Mr. Stoney Surrenders. Death Conquers 216 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Peace is Queen 222 


CHARACTERS 


Joseph Maxwell. 

Mary Maxwell, his wife. 

Mildred Maxwell, their son. 

“ Old Moll,” their beast. 

Thomas Stoney, proprietor of Stoney Mansion. 
Florence Stoney, his wife. 

Stephen Stoney, their son. 

Myrtle Stoney, their daughter. 

Pauline Fry, servant at Stoney Mansion. 

Angie Hart, Myrtle’s classmate. 

Squire Robins, citizen of Bonville. 

Hannah Springer, Mr. Stoney’s sister. 

Dr. Jennings, Bonville’s physician. 

Mrs. Jennings, his wife. 

Joe Tinker, hostler and gardener, Stoney Mansion. 
]Mrs. Knox, popular soloist. 

“ Lord Chesterfield,” Stoney Mansion’s family beast. 
Alfred Strong, teacher in Bonville. 

Mrs. Robins, Squire Robins’ wife. 

Bertha Robins, their daughter. 

Rev. Filmore, pastor at Bonville. 

Mrs. Filmore, his wife. 

Fred Hastings, of New York. 

Ralph Goi.st, Stoney’s clerk. 

Jim Blair, another clerk. 

Phebe Baxter, cook at Stoney Mansion. 

Amelia Freeman, of New York. 

Mason, leader of band. 

Trewsdal, tiorist. 

Mr. Freeman, of New York. 

;Mrs. Freeman, his wife. 

E. Jayson White, proprietor of Woodland. 

Mrs. White, his wife. 


G 


CTIAUAVTERS. 


The Matron of Woodland. 

The Doctor at Woodland. 

Miss Day, “soldier” at Woodland. 

Miss Jones, “soldier” at Woodland. 

Mr. Dean, Amelia’s husband to be. 

Mr. Green, Mr. Black, Mr. Gray, Miss “Peacock Blue,” Miss 
“Crushed Strawberry,” Miss “Dregs of Wine,” Mrs. 
White’s invited guests. 

Bicliard Baxter, of Paterson, N. J. 

Jane Harper, Phebe’s successor. 

Fred Baxter, Richard’s son. 

Little Phebe, Fred Baxter’s daughter. 

John Baxter, Richard’s son. 

Richard Baxter, Jr., John Baxter’s soa. 

Laura Baxter, Richard’s wiie. 

Frank Fen, Joe’s successor. 

Miss Webb, Mrs. Stoney No. 2. 


PRELUDE, 


We drift, we sail; we sink, we rise; 

Along the waters reflecting the skies. 

We plunge sometimes beneath its tide. 

And then again on a calm sea ride. 

We steer our boat toward pleasant harbors. 
Longing to rest awhile on their borders — 

But something drives us away at sea, 

And keeps us there, though turbid it be. 

We halt at last, all struck with awe! 

In mid-ocean we are made to pause. 

Alone! far away from friends most dear. 

With nothing but sorrow, forebodings and fear. 
We can but look upward, and cry for aid 
From the hand of Justice, who friendly hath said: 
It is a fearful thing, you know, to fall 
Into the hands of the God of all. 

If just and righteous be thy ways. 

Then enter His peace with joyous praise. 

But the wrath of God will not relent 
Toward a life in idle ungodliness spent.” 

In every life, either soon or late. 

There comes a day when all seems hate; 

But happy is he who doth not condemn 
Himself in the Day of Judgment to men. 




i i 


CONSIDERATIONS.” 


CHAPTER 1. 

There ! That is the lust dollar in iny pocket!'^ said 
Joseph Maxwell, as he reluctantly drew from an old 
leather pouch a friendly silver dollar, wliich he laid down 
upon the counter of the store in exchange for a sack 
of dour, which he, with a heart about as heavy, loads into 
tlie old buggy, and with a smart crack of the leather lash 
at the old mare, she starts briskly on the home-bound 
trip. 

Many and severe were the considerations that passed 
through the honest mind of Joseph Maxwell as he made 
this journey; and, that said considerations may be more 
and firmly handled, he turns on the damper, and lets 
Old Moil take a right easy pace. But, a little out of due 
time finds them at the door of the little wood-colored and red 
story and-a-half cottage which stands at a modest distance 
from the main road leading to Bonville, on what might be 
called a by-road. On account of its unpretentious appear- 
ance, as well as that of its considerate pi-oprietor, little 
seems to be known of it, except to the few wno chance to 
come within its narrow influence. 

“ Whoa!’^ and Old Moll, without the least urging, 
stands firm ami bold at the kitchen door. “Here’s your 
flour, mother,” says Joseph, as he gently sets the sack on 
the step, and then fulfills his first duty of importance 
to the gentle beast who has so faithfully served the family 
for years. A good bed with a reasonable amount of hay 
and oats pays the debt, and we find him once more within 
the'quiet and solemn corner. 

“ Well, mother,” said he, as he made a desperate effort 
to arouse the slumbers of the little knot, as it smouldered 
in the cook-stove, as if it were endeavoring to last as long 


10 


CONSIDER A TIONS. 


as possible, ‘^Fve been considering matters to-night, as 
never before, it seems to me. It appears to me that 
tliere’s a crisis coming, and we must prepare to meet it; 
how is more than I know. You see we are not what folks 
would call pious; that is, we’ve not got the prevailing 
religion. We don’t go to the church, partly because it’s 
so botherin’ far olf, and partly because we can’t go in 
what might be called ‘ shape,’ and partly because we never 
have. Old Moll and the old three-spring, with only half 
a dashboard, would hardly make a fair show uptown there 
’mong the high-toned. Then my best coat and your bay- 
stage shawl — the ones we have had since the day w'e first 
started sail double — are becoming astonishing threadbare. 
AVell, at any rate, church, as you know, has always been 
clear out of our reach. But w'hat I am considering now^ is 
the Have you not kind of felt somehow, of late, 

that things are a-pressing on us more ’n common, and 
everything seems like they are a-coming to a standstill?” 

Well, Joseph,” responded the faithful partner of all 
the ups and downs, prosperities and adversities, joys and 
sorrows of Joseph Max weed’s life for thirty years, ‘‘ I fully 
realize that our means are scarce, and we are growing old, 
two years to one as they 2^ sec? to go, working as we do to 
keep this scrap of land, and giving Mildred the start we 
did. It almost seems to me sometimes that our poor backs 
will not stand it to carry the load many years, unless there 
is some dreadful happy change for the better. Somehow, 
since Mildred left us our light has burned dim, and the 
road has been a dismal one to travel.” 

Mildred wnis the only son and child of Joseph and Mary 
Maxwell, and a more clever lad never lived; at least, so it 
appeared to them. They had exerted all in their pow'er to 
give him thebenefitof the educational advantages which the 
high school, over three or nearer four miles away, affoi ded. 
He was quite apt, and hy the constant admonitions of 
father and mother to put in the time well, for you know 
the time is short which you can spend in school;” and by 
the ingenious economies of the faithful trio in every direc- 
tion Mildred was kept in school during the long winter 
term, but the remainder of the year he spent at work on 
the place, endeavoring to lift the incumbrance, and to 
keep it from retrograding. 

At length times grew more close, and he was compelled 


‘ ‘ CON, 'SIDE LI A TIONS. ” 


11 


to drop bis school entirely, and at the age of seventeen 
began learning the carpenter’s trade. This profession be- 
catne very congenial to him, and soon he found himself 
quite independently established as a builder. With a 
bright outlook before him did he glance into the future, 
not more on his own account than for the sake of his rev- 
e^’enced parents. The farming was carried on by Joseph 
Maxwell in the careful way, making every foot of the little 
thirty-acre plot count and yield. The three cows, Mil- 
dred’s pet sheep and her gentle family, consisting of chil- 
dren, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and their 
children’s children, made a snug little fold. Old Moll, 
who had done the heft of the farm work, was now sort of 
losing her interest in. affairs, ‘‘but she is good for a few 
years yet, and, if no bad luck comes, we shall be able to 
replace her with a team,” said Mildred one day, as he joy- 
fully speculated upon his own abilities. At any rate, ho})e 
beat higli in the breasts of the three, as they saw, year by 
year, the load gently lifted, and not far in advance did 
they see the home clear of debt, and a neat little sum laid 
up for the “rainy day.” Mildred was pronounced an ex- 
pert at his trade, and commanded both steady woi-k and 
good pay. He, at this time, when the tide of prosperity 
ran highest, was engaged in the building of a structure at 
the town of Bonville, known as tlie “ Stoney Mansion,” 
the property of the wealthies-t, and consequently the most 
influential man in town. Mr. Thomas Stoney was dealer in 
dry goods, hardware and groceries — in short, owned the 
only store of any significance in the village, and controlled 
the markets of the section. An honest man, as the world 
might pi-onounce him, yet shi’owd, and although he, per- 
ha})S, could not well be classed among the “ o])pressors,” 
yet everything in his own favor was always guarded, and 
so managed as to make all financial affairs turn strictly in 
favor of the Stoneys. 

'J’he sti’ucture which is being raised over his head is, in- 
deed, one of magnilicence, and well woidhy its title, 
“ Stoney Mansion,” as it is deemed to be the faii-est in 
the town — or in any town— as it seerns to Bonville folk. 
To Mildi’edi’s eyes it must have the appearance of one of 
the “ mansions in the skies,” as he comes fi'om his own 
little room on the half-story floor of the would-be red cot- 
tage and enters its costly portals, many^^of which are the 
work of his own hands. 


12 


‘'CONSIDER A TIONS. 


One sud day, wli’fen tlie edifice was on the down-bill side 
toward completion, Mildred was working upon one of the 
roofs of a sharp-pointed gable when his foot slipped and 
let him to the ground, breaking a leg and fracturing his 
hip. He was picked up, cared for by the doctor, wlio was 
heard to say, lie will probably be a cripple if he lives.^^ 
He is paid his dues by Thomas 8toney, and carried to his 
humble home, but not to ascend the stairs to his sanctified 
corner. Can he never climb that step again? The thought 
is to him a bitter one, and instead of ho 2 Je there now 
writhes within his heart the wrenchings which none but 
the victim of blasted hopes can know. 

Although, as has before been stated, the Maxwells are 
by no means what the world calls religious,” yet we be- 
lieve in the eyes of God true piety manifests itself in their 
lives from the beginning. Every dollar of the humble 
property had been acquired by the fairest means, and 
earned by the honest sweat of the face.” As far as 
Joseph Maxwell is known at all, any dealing with him has 
])i-oved him to be none of those whose “ false balance” 
abominates, nor is he ever known to split the thirteenth 
cent of the shilling for the half. As for charity, he lives 
so closely at home that it is doubtful if he knows much 
about its needs, but seems to know and lealize fully that 
•‘ charity begins at home.” At the present time chuich is 
entirely out of the reach of t-he Maxwells, so if there be a 
Comforter for them, it is vei\y evident that they must look' 
for Him froju some other source, or thi'ough some other 
means acquire His needful presence. 

Joseph is quite able as j'et to keep the ends together; to 
milk the cows, feed and tend the sheep, and keep the 
dozen or so faithful hens in a laying condiiion by the free 
use of the hard-earned corn in the bin. lint all ids efforts 
bring in little over and above the daily expenditures of the 
family, and rhe incidentals occasioned by Mildred’s sick- 
]iess ; if it continues to meet the demands it indeed does 
well. 

Mildred’s sickness is a long, long trial, and, worst of all, 
it is swiftly dawidiig u})on the minds of Joseph and Mary 
that it may be a lifelong calamity. 

After a year of confinement to his bed of suffering, dur- 
ing which time he is kept up by the few hopeful and en- 
couraging words from the parents, and the fi-equent flat- 


‘‘CONk^^IDEUA TIONS” 


13 


teries ol doctor, until he is brought face to face with the 
awful fact that, should he live, he must ever be crippled, 
and never can he walk freely upon his feet ; never again 
work at his profession. His education is deficient, and no 
means whereby to acquire more, even if he should regain 
the necessary amount of strength. As these facts gently 
force themselves upon him, it proves, indeed, a giant, 
which he must grapple with and slay, or sink beneath it. 

It proves too much for his sensitive nature and weak 
condition, and as the hot summer months come on he is 
completely overcome,'"’ as his poor mother expresses it, 
and gradually sinks away. Drop by drop does the heart 
yield up its sweet, pure blood, and at length the idol of 
two hearts at least passes away. He goes out from this 
world, not on account of a broken limb, nor yet a broken 
hip, hut ii broke/i hearl ! In his death lie leaves behind 
two, which are alike wounded and bleeding, but for the 
sake of each other, and being bound by that tie which 
naught can sever,” they beat on and on, for seemingly no 
other reason only because they cannot stop. 

It is now five years since Mildred went aw'ay,” as 
Mary always speaks of his demise, and since they tenderly 
laid him down to sleep under the drooping elm on a little 
knoll close by the garden gate. They could hardly con- 
sent to have their all taken any farther away, and the 
public yard was so distant that a frequent visit to the spot 
would have been impossible to the mother. On account of 
this, we doubt not that the small farm is doubly endeared 
and sacred in their eyes. At any rate, five years hence, 
we find them still struggling on, having, at the opening 
of our story, paid their last ready dollar for the sack of 
fiour. Both n’lore feeble in body, and plainly has hard- 
time made his footprints on their countenances as Avell. 
It has been with severe struggles that they have reached 
the date last named. The old incumbrance is lifted to be 
sure, but part of the heavy debt incurred by Mildred’s 
sickness and death still remains. All the gentle fold, 
with a cow or two, have been turned off to pay doctor’s 
and undertaker’s bills; so the butter and eggs” are now 
the principal articles which can be relied upon as a means 
of supplying the trade at‘‘8toney & Son’s,” and the 
hopeful few cents overhand above, which, in the course of 
a few weeks, amounts to the dollar. I^ow, that is gone! 


14 


* ‘CONSIDER A TIONS. 


Darkness truly settles over the twain, when wo find them 
hesitatingly cutting loose the string which ties up the 
flour-sack. 


CHAPTER II. 

Stoney Mansion has, in clue time reached completion. 
The necessary warming^'’ ceremonies are performed, and 
the Stoney^s are comfortably established within its mag- 
nificent depths. Every essential luxury tliat the times 
demand is brought into direct use; though not a dollar 
beyond what, as the solid judgment tells him, the revenues 
of said Stoney will not completely meet. For the man 
in question is, by no means, the one to let even popularity 
and outside show, however dear they may be to his heart, 
get the start of him — as long as he can avoid it — but, hav- 
ing gone to the extremity of the rope, rests until finance 
further opens up the way and splices the line. 

The Stoney family is made up of Thomas and wife, 
Florence; a son, Stephen, now having reached manhood, 
and, having been carefully taught all the shrewd traits 
characteristic to his father and mother both, is firmly 
established in partnership with his father in the broacl- 
fronted block, which on its brow wears the pretentious 
“ Stoney & Son.'' He is a great satisfaction to the father, 
on account of his apparent love of gain; and the influ- 
ence, which they cannot fail to note, is of vital importance 
to him. 

i\Iyrtle Stoney, who at this date is twenty-two years of 
age, stands three years junior to her brother. We see 
in her a sweet-tempered, modest girl, possessing seemingly 
none of the marked shrewd traits of money-making whfch 
predominate in the other three-fourths of the fajuily; 
thus an exception to the rule; consequently, is a source of 
not a little anxiety to the parents, who regard her as 
having a very disinterested and indiflerent view to life, 
especially to that part which usually has the credit of 
‘^making the mare go." Myrtle is by no means entirely 
free on account of this feature, and is often obliged to 
suffer rigid criticisms and even censures by reason of it. 
Many and long are the hours she spends by herself, earn- 
estly and sadly considering the subject. 


‘ ‘ CO NS I D ER -dL T LONS. ’ ’ 


15 


Being excessively fond of books, she often seeks a 
draught of cooling drink to her soul from the depths of 
the grand library, wliich to the remainder of the household 
is not much, but ‘‘fair to look upon.'^ In this distant 
corner does she spend many hours too of joy. Here, at 
her request, has been placed her dear piano, of which she 
is a clever mistress, and it is with moie pleasure to Thomas 
Stoney that he listens to the strains of praise proceeding 
from the members of Bonville society in favor of her as a 
pianist than to the strains that idse fi’om the touch of her 
delicate fingers on the forte. 

rtle is by no means pronounced by the social leadei’s 
of Bonville one of their best members, though gladly would 
they have welcomed her, with all her advantages, into their 
ranks. However, she mingles to a ceiTain extent in the 
circle, more to the gratification of her father than to her 
own real pleasure to be derived therefrom. 

On the whole, hers is a meditative turn of mind, and 
this is noted by some so closely as to even be pi-onounced 
“melancholy.^’ Music, good books and much quiet seem 
to be the leading elements which constitute her diversions 
and pleasures; thus do we oftenest find her, when in the 
pursuit of these, in the library which she is so “pleased to 
look after.” Here does a fevered and thirsty soul drink in 
the living waters as they flow, bearing with them gently, 
directly, an immortal spirit, whose course so sure none 
can swerve or bend from its straight current. 

By no means does Myrtle forget the demands and her 
obligations to her mother as the assistant mistress of the 
mansion; faithfully and well does she discharge all these 
duties. N lonely time indeed would the hii-ed hands 
realize did she not so often aid and cheer them on in their 
work. i\[ore do they owe to her for the occasional “ half- 
days of?” anti for their protracted services in the house 
than they know. Although we have painted hers as a 
meditative and possibly a “melancholy” face, yet never 
did eye sp.rkle brighter than hers at the all-hopeful good, 
or laugh I'ing with greater merriment at innocent jokes 
and amusements. But as soon could it change to the “eve 
of fire” at the ap[)i-oach of evil or at the realization of its 
results. 

Happy indeed ai-e the moments she spends in relieving 
the wants and pains of those in need and distress, and on 


IG 


^‘CONSIDER A TIONS. 


these errands does she often go, under cover of ^Mnaking a 
few calls/^ However, she needs must be careful how she 
uses tile comparatively small allowance which “ Stoney & 
Sold’ see fit to give her as her dues; and often, to meet tlie 
demands, she contrives and saves from her own expendi- 
tures to augment this fund. 

In an especially reflective condition of mind do we see 
her one evening in her preferred section of the house, hav- 
ing come in from an errand of mercy, but as the Apostle 
Paul pictures sometimes, ‘^as a deceiver and yet true.'^ 
She had best explain such errands as these to the house- 
hold as ‘‘a walk,” “ a call,” or anythinghwi a charity trip. 
ISTo charity was wont to go out from Thomas Stoney’s right 
hand that his left did not know all about, as well as tlie 
greater part of Bonville; for it was always given, if at all, 
in remarkably large doses, surpassing anything of the kind 
in town, and thus called forth the much-desired applause. 

It is a cold wind that blows the damp half-snow, iialf- 
rain in a defiant manner as she comes swiftly home, after 
this ‘^after-tea walk,” as Bonville folk would ])ut it. She 
draws the commodious lounging-chair up in front of the 
lively fire, which sparkles not more rightfully than do her 
own eyes to-night, and the fire of love and revenge burns 
in her soul in vie with the flames in the grate. 

As she seats herself in. the room, surrounded by its luxu- 
riance, and her eyes glance about her, she observes, as 
never before, the richness of carpet, upholstery, books, 
paintings, piano, etc. It places before her such a contrast 
from the scenes she has left only a short half-hour before, 
that she can hardly suppress a sense of shame, regret and 
even ingratitude for her own blessings, and sorrow for 
those in need without, that it is indeed a question worthy 
her consideration, and straightway does she settle herself 
for the pursuance of the same. 

She must first be very thankful for this seat so comfort- 
able, and the fire, which so cleverly is warming and drying 
her damp ankles. Yes, she is thankful — at least we should 
be sorry to charge Myrtle Stoney with such a thing as 
ingratitude to God. Yet some of her girl friends have 
been known to say of her: “ If she is at all thankful, she 
has a poor way of shoiving it.” 

She is not complaining to-night on account of herself — 
for why need she complain? — but a feeling of dissatisfac- 


\ 


‘^COySIDEUA TTONS. 


n 

tioii and discontent creeps over her, and the question of 
Right and Wrong presents itself so abruptly to her tlnit 
she can not spurn it. She longs for souie ein})loyment 
beyond that of entertaining the circle that so willingly 
finds its way to Stoney Mansion. J3ut she is plainly told 
and made to understand that her services to her rnothei* 
and the house are invaluable to the success of the ‘Minn/’ 
and that the health of Mrs. Stoney demands her constant 
assistance in the duties of the house. 

We may wonder from what source Myrtle inherited so 
many traits of true character, as it has been pictured in 
such a way as to give none of these amiable characteristics 
to either father or mother. Peidiaps a mistake may as 
well, or better, be rectified here. Mi-s. Stoney sprang from 
a family of a sturdy, yet clever, old English stock, and in 
her extreme youth manifested an amiable and wide-minded 
disposition; while yet very young had become the wife of 
Tnomas Stoney, much to the sorrow of her parents, and 
emigrated with him to his own counti’y. Consequently, 
she found herself entirely in the clutches of one wiio was 
able and willing to bend her disposition in subjection to 
his own and to suit himself, and to a great extent has he 
succeeded. She being of a gentle mind and heart, was not 
hard to persuade of the necessity of money to the prosp'U- 
ous and happy life; therefore, at this age, we find her quite 
well transformed into the shrewd financier, after the ideas 
of her worthy spouse. 

Myrtle longs for work, genuine work, in the world — 
something which will develop brain and muscle — and the 
more she investigates herself, the more slie becomes con- 
vinced that life has some greater and more important work 
foi’ her than that in which she is engaged: — a fashionable 
and social solicitor for “Stoney & Son” is, to lier, all it 
amounts to, afid the matter is assuming a disgusting 
feature the older she grows. This, with many other 
views of the question, is responsible for the spasm of 
melancholy meditation in which she plunges into the 
depths of despair and soft cushions and weeps a few drops; 
but as a general thing her eyes have never as yet been 
called upon to yield many of the bitter tears. 

Suddenly she is aroused by the ap{)earance of Pauline at 
the door, who, without any unnecessary ceremony, ushers 
into lier presence with: “ Miss Myrtle, here’s Miss Hart, 


18 


^^^ONSIDEUA TIONS. 


who’s come to sec you.” Miss Angie Iliii't is a girl friend 
of her own age, and classmate at graduation at the High 
School of Bonville one year previous to the last commence- 
ment. 

Myrtle rose to greet her and assigned to her the dearly 
beloved chaii', and manifested an air of quite welcome,” 
although we have reason to believe that in her pi’eseut 
mood her own solitary company would have been prefer- 
able to that of any one, especially to that of Angie Hart. 
Although they had always been good friends, yet by nature 
very different, by no means did Aiigie often give herself to 
serious thought, or ever even glance at the side of life 
which assumed this hue. Hers was a ‘‘good time,” as 
to the milid of xA.ngie Hart it presented itself. 

Accepting with “ thanks ” and enough of reluctance to 
maintain her usual stock of etiquette, whi(di she was always 
supposed to have on hand, the proffered seat, she at once 
resumed: 

“ Oh, what a dear, lovely sanctum you have here, 
Myrtle! I should think anyone who didn’t Upraise God 
with her whole heart’ for such a home must be an ingrate 
indeed, and only fit to inhabit ^ tejit or a cottage.’ It was 
with a desperate effort that I sought this coveted corner on 
such a night as this; but I have reached it though, as you 
see, through wind and snow, wln’ch have made a beautiful 
mixture which I call ^ splash.’ I am completely disgusted 
with the way it has treated my new boots, and "as for mat- 
ters in general, I am clear out of patience! I hardly knew 
which way to turn when I struck out, but finally bent all 
my energies, and sought to tease and torment your humble 
self for a while with my perplexities.” 

dear child,” said Myrtle, what has happened 
"new under the sun?’ It is not often you are called upon 
to lament or enter complaint for the manner in which this 
world treats you! What has dared to ci'oss your flowery 
path and leave its trail over your Eden?’’ 

Angie Hart is the oldest child of a very large family; 
although her father is an honest, hard-working man, yet 
it takes more than he can raise to keep them up with the 
times; so Angie necessarily shifts for herself to a certain 
extent. Since her graduation she has been engaged in one 
of the primary departments of the town school; although 
a fair teacher — that is, fair enough to hold her place with- 


*'CONSIDEltA IWNSr 


19 


out iiuy great amount of ^‘pulling of wires’^ — yet lier 
‘^good tinies^^are to a great extent infringed upon, and 
strict attention to business seems to take just a little more 
time than is really pleasing to her. In reply to Myrtle’s 
fjuestion of surprise she says; 

“ Oh, I hardly know myself! Only things are so ruffled 
u[), and that pesky school takes u|) so much of my time 
that 1 do not get an opportunity to breathe fieely only once 
a week; on Sunday, after I get home from church, 1 take 
one long breath, and that has to suffice all the week. Oh, 
Myrtle! you know nothing about what it is to work as 1 do, 
and by no means can you enter into sympathy with me in 
my circumstances. What with babies — babies at home and 
babies, babies all day at school — I have just got to that 
point where I truly dread the sigJil of one! What am I 
going to do?” 

“ Well,” said Myrtle, “would it be any consolation to 
you to have me tell you that I envy you to even a gieater 
extent than you do me? Or would, if I did not know it 
were decidedly wrong to envy.” 

“ Envy me!” exclaimed Angie; “ for the sake of mercy to 
yourself, do tell what theie is about me you enVy. My 
work? 1 should imagine most any one in your delightful 
home and surroundings would envy mo, all day shut up in 
that dirty schoolroom, sui’rounded by brats of every home, 
habit and hue! Wliy, Myidle Stoney, I think less and less 
of you every time I meet you of late. Do you suppose I'd 
teach that school a single day, if liiy mouth and body didn’t 
demand that I do something to keep up, and to get enough 
together to decorate myself, so as to make people think I am 
somebody anyway, when I go out? But go out! who can get 
any time for going out, or in either, or being anybody, 
with all the urchins in the neighborhood pulling at one’s 
skirts? As for my mother, she is resigned, and says she 
never expects to go out again; but she does not want me 
to sacrifice my pleasures to such an extent. Poor soul! 1 
do not see how she is going to endure to the end, or any of 
us, as far as that is concerned. As for me, I do not take 
much stock in the Scripture — ^ Multiply and replenish the 
earth.’ It might have done well enough in the days of 
which it was spoken, but times have changed, and I do not 
doubt that the' Harts have already filled their part of the 
measure over and over again.” 


20 


‘ ‘ CON SID ERA TIONS. 


Angie, said Myrtle, it pains me to liear you speak 
thus; and yet, perhaps, tliore may be much truth in what 
you say, as it thus impresses itself upon you. But to tell 
you the honest convictions of my mind to-night, 1 am just 
as deep in mud as you are in mire, whether or no you be- 
lieve me; and by no means do I feel able to-night to recite 
my own woes, and, if you will allow me to say it, much 
less able to hear yours further. Let us change the subject 
entirely, and enter upon something agreeable. Let us look 
for a few minutes at the bright side — at the blessing and 
not the curse.'^ 

Blessing and not the curse! Why shouldn't you look 
at the bright side, with nothing but bright sides all about 
you V’ 

Now, Angie, I rise to a point of order, and protest 
against any further discussion of these unpleasant subjects 
and features of our lives to night. Perhaps, not long 
hence, I may be able to give a hearing to your story, and 
you may be allowed to hear mine; but not to-night. I am 
not as well to-night as 1 wish I were. Please pardon me 
for my abruptness in the matter.’^ 

Well, Myrtle, you know I alwa 3 ^s must have the last 
word, so I have to say you are the strangest mystery to my 
mind of late, that I, ^seeing, yet do not understand.^ Bift 
to gratify your poor, dear, good self, I venture to speak to 
you on the subject now under .consideration among the 
‘ Bon-vilhiins.^ The party the other night at Squire 
Bobins\ Did yon, or did you not enjoy yourself?*'’ 

“Yes; I guess I enjoyed it as much as I could. The 
evening was pleasant; the company said to be select; the 
music especially I enjoyed. Upon the whole, 1 presume it 
was quite satisfactory to people in general.^'’ 

“ Oh, Myrtle Stoney! I know I shall shake you before 
I go home. Why, I thought it was perfectly grand! — just 
lovely, everything! To tell the truth, I never saw the 
young ladies of Bonville out in more charming dress than 
on that occasion. But really. Myrtle, I did not think you 
did yourself justice; and 1 must extend the injustice a 
little farther— even to Mrs. Kobins herself. Please do for- 
give me, but 1 lost all patience — the little stock I had on 
hand — because you did not appear on that scene in full 
dress. You looked well, of course; that is, neat and all 
that; but, oh. Myrtle, if I had the clothes that you have. 


21 


‘ ‘ CON SID FAtA no NS A 

tliey would not get musty, or smell of red cedar, for want 
of an airing. AVhy don’t you wear them everywhere you 
go?” 

Myrtle, with a half smile and a suppressed spirit of in- 
dignation, replied: Well, Angie, it is all right for those 
wlio choose, and can afford it, to dress, I suppose. 1 presume, 
as far as circumstances are concerned, I am as well qualified 
to appear in full dress upon all occasions as most any person 
in town; but somehow lam beginning to believe that it is a 
sin to make a god of our dress. It is well to dress well; 
with good taste and richly, if you choose and can afford it; 
but in my opinion there are other things which deserve 
our attention, even at a little sacrifice in dress.” 

What can it be so important that has found its way to 
your big heart now for consideration, may I ask?” 

‘‘Yes; you may ask, and I will answer. Are you aware, 
Angie, that right here under our observation there are 
people who are suffering for the necessaries of life?” 

“ Oh, yes; I expect some of those folks back there on 
Jenkins’ Lane are obliged to work mighty hard to keep 
soul and body together, and keep themselves covered in a 
respectable manner. Some of them look to me as if the 
soul had already taken its glorious flight, leaving the poor 
skeleton to* meander around, perhaps, ‘to save funeral ex- 
penses,’ as I have heard it said.” 

“Angie, we must realize that we ourselves are but 
worms of the dust, and how little would be required to 
bring us to like circumstances.” 

“ bh, yes; I expect we are not of much account even at 
the best, but I know one thing — I try to be. I am deter- 
mined to look as well as possible, and do all I can to keep 
])ace with the best in the land.” 

“ 1 have heard it said, *' Pretty is what ])retty does,’” 
said Myrtle, in a manner not wholly without a tinge of 
sarcasm. 

“ Yes, 1 suppose there is some truth in that, and I know 
I am not acting one bit pretty to night. Forgive me, and 
perhaps the next time we meet,” said Angie, as she politely 
rose to leave, “ we may be in a better mood, and can 
redeem ourselves — at least let ns hope so.” 

‘‘Good-night, xVngie,” said Myrtle, as slie gently led the 
way to the great hall door, whicji, as she opened, let in a 
gust of frozen rain; “1 am sorry to turn you out into this 
night.” 


“CONSIDER A TIONS:' 




01), have no fear. I shall be all righfc.'’’ With one 
more good-night the door closed, and Myrtle sought tl)e 
library for a few minutes of quiet, and to taste of the ease 
and comforts which it afforded. Sinking into the chair 
deserted by Angie, she reached to the table by her side, 
and picking up a little prayer and-song book, her eyes 
beheld the words put to song: 

“ The beautiful things of the world are dross; 

Should they keep me away from my Master and Friend ? 

No : verily no ; let me cling to the cross. 

And follow my Saviour — close unto the end.” 

Stepping to the piano, and uniting her sweet voice with 
its tender tones, she sang the words, and strengthened the 
already determined purpose to ^‘follow on'’'’ in the path in 
which there seemed to be a mysteidous Leader. Then, 
with a soft tread, she sought her own room, and the rest 
which it and the night afforded. 


CHAPTER HI. 

At the bieakfast-table next morning, while the inmates 
of Stoiiey ^fansion were engaged in performing the first 
I’eal duty of ihe day, the postman’s ring was answered by 
a letter, addressed to the proprietor, Mr. Thomas Stoney. 
About revealing its contents to the other members of the 
family Mr. Stoney appeared a little, I'eluctant and con- 
sitlei’ate; but finally, in reply to his wife’s inquiry as to 
tlie writer and the news it contained, he read alomf: 

Leadvillb, Col., E’ov. 15, 1890. 

08 Pearl sti'eet. 

My Dear Brother, Thomas Stoney: You will, no 
doubt, be very much sui-prised at the receipt of a letter 
froni your sister bearing the above heading: but, ‘neverthe- 
less, it is your own dear sister who pens those lines, and 
who is in the above-named place. 

I write you to convey to you the sad news that my dear 
husband died very suddenly two weeks ago, and, as you 
must imagine, 1 am left'ni a very lonely condition— 


^'dONSlDKRA TIONSr ^3 

a childless widow! — the very thought seems to me unendu- 
rable, and how I shall continue to bear up time only must 
prove. 

A still more deplorable feature of my case is that wo 
came here to speculate a little in the mining districts, 
hoping thereby to add to our modest little fortune; but, 
things took altogether a contraiw turn to that laid out by 
us, and by some streak of bad luck, which I have now 
neither time nor strength to state to you, we lost nearly all 
we had. 

I think it bore hard upon the mind of Edward, for he 
seemed to sort of sink spiritually at once, and finally 
dropped very suddenly. The doctor called it heart-failure. 
1 occupy a small house, Ko. 68 Pearl street, which we pur- 
chased upon our arrival here, but hope soon to dispose of 
it, as there seems to be nothing here now to which I can 
turn my attention. 

I hope this will reach you in due time, and that you will 
not cease to think of your poor, lone sister, away in the 
West, who has been less fortunate than yourself. Please 
let me lioar from you at once. Love to Florence a!jd the 
children; especially to Myrtle, who by this time, of course, 
is a young lady pf marked ability, and a great joy to you 
both. In sorrow, 1 remain, as ever, your sistei*, 

Hanxaii Spkixgj:r. 

“ Well, now,^’ said ^Ir. Stoney, as he mechanically 
folded the letter, and returned it to its wrap])er, that is 
sudden and quite hard for Hannah no doubt; but 1 venture 
to say she will })rosper about as well without Spi-ingei* as 
with him. However,, I su])poSe it is no more than would 
naturally be expected of a brother, under the circum- 
stances, to send iier a complimentai’y ticket to this house, 
with an invitation to pay us a visit — even an extended 
one.'’^ 

As these words wei’e spoken, tliere i-an a pain of dread 
and despair through the heart of i\[yr(le, which proved so 
severe as to make a reply from her impossible. We know 
that a certain amount of like dread entered the mind of 
Mjs. (Florence) Stoney as well, but she choked it back, 
and managed to foi'ce a response of — Why, yes; certainly 
we should expect a visit from Hannah.’^ 

Now, said Hannah Springer is the only sister of Thomas 


u “CON^^n)H!RA TIONSr 

Stoney, and four or Sve years his senior. Both had in- 
herited a clever fortune from tlie old stock, and while 
Thomas, by his careful considerations, good investmenis 
and various coiitrivances, had succeeded in bringing his 
up to the amount which places him in circumstances as 
we now see him, Hannah, on the contrai’y, had been one 
of those who has ihoioughly proven the old saying: 

“Change the name, and not the letter, 

Change lor worse, and not for better.” 

Springer was a man who was always experimenting with 
his brain; and, being of a decidedly tired nature, he 
experimented once too much, as we see, and the last 
tragedy proved disastrous, in tlie Colorado mining scheme. 

Mrs. Springer was quite a congenial woman at first sight, 
but one of the kind which was neither durable nor lasting. 
When Stephen and Myrtle w'ei’e little, she had spent tnucli 
of her time in the family, taking care of them, and 

assisting^^ and “advising Florence. She did not meet 
and unite iier all with E<lward Springer until far advanced 
into “old maidenhood,^' and of course by that time knew’ 
what and who was worthy of her worthy self. 

The unpleasant memories of her early ‘days spent in the 
home have by no means worn from the minds of either 
Mrs. Stoney or her children. It has been several years 
since the Stoney ’s have heard anything as to her and her 
husband’s whereabouts, until the morning in question, 
when the letter reveals to them the ti'uth, and rather more 
of it than they care to hear. 

On the evening of the day which brings to them the 
news, as Mrs. Stoney is in her room engaged in a restora- 
tion of some of the everyday’s clotliing (It must bo 
remembered that practical economy was ever observed by 
the members of this family, notwithstanding the grea't 
amount of means which was at their disposal), Myrtle, upon 
reaching lier mother’s door, gently opened it, and at the 
same time said: 

“ IMother, may I come in?” 

“ Certainly, mv child; draw up that good old rocker anl 
make yourself quite at home.” 

“ Yes, mamma; 1 hope I am ahvays at home in this 
corner. With the exception of my own room, this is the 


^'CONSWERA TIONS. 


25 


oue dearest to my heart; I will not even give the library 
the preference/^ 

Oh, Myrtle, we have everything so comfortable and 
pleasant, and I am so glad yon appreciate these things, and 
your father’s efforts to make such a home for us all. It 
has been by the most careful and considerate means, and 
much of hard work on his part, that to-day we have these 
things at our command.” 

‘‘ Mother, I hope I appreciate; truly I should be a very 
ungrateful creature if I did not. ‘Mamma, how long do 
you expect Hannah to remain here, if she comes?” 

“ I arn sure I have no idea. Your father seems to think 
she will, at least, make a lengthy visit, as he expressed 
it. Why, Myrtle? Have you still treasured up a preju- 
dice against that pea-green poplin, nurse-apron and cap?” 

Well do I remember them, mamma; I think they made 
an everlasting impression upon the memory of both Stephen 
and me.” 

To be sure those days were not among the brightest, 
perhaps, to any of us; but you are older now, and times and 
circutnstances have changed, and we must not let those 
old ghosts haunt us still.” 

Yes, I know; but it is Aunt Hannah and always will 
be. Such natures as hers do not change, especially in old 
age. It is when young that the twig is bent, if ever. I 
venture to say Hannah Springer is even further down in 
the depths of disagreeableness than Hannah Stoney ever 
was, or Aunt Hannah, as we used to call her.” 

Mrs. Stoney by nature had much of the sympathetic — 
especially for her children. But her constant servitude to 
the selfish nature of Mr. Stoney had in time dimmed the 
bright surface of this Christian grace Charity,” though 
no one knows what it may have cost her to thus benumb 
her heart and soul against it as much as she has. Thus is 
she not the open-hearted mother to Myrtle that she other- 
wise might have been. “Ye cannot Cod and mammon 
serve.” Therefore, if we are unfortunate enough to be- 
come chained, soul and body, to the mammon, it is very 
difficult to serve the God of our choice. This is the 
lamentable condition of Florence Stoney, although by 
dint of her strong will-power she rnaiiages to keep up 
quite well in the face of it all; and thus far she has suc- 
ceeded admirably, in the eyes of the world. 


26 


''CONSIDER A TIONS. 


Undoubtedly, Myrtle; but you know, for your father's 
sake, vve must bear such things. You know we owe all to 
him for our home and its surroundings.'^ 

Myrtle could find no words to reply to this, so bidding 
her mother good-night," she went to her own room, to 
revolve once more in her mind the questions so perplexing 
to her — made still more so by the events of the day ami 
the news it had brought. Then, to seek the bright side of 
it — if there be one— rshe happened to think that, by 
Hannah's presence in the house her own would be less 
needed, and perhaps she could oftener find excuses for 
going out, and by so doing would gain a more favorable 
opportunity of doing the good in town of which she only 
had to raise her eyes to see the pressing need. Glancing at 
this phase of the subject she fell asleep. 

A short time after our last narration Myrtle was one 
day walking through the town, and passing the home of 
Dr. Jennings, and she being a very firm friend of Mrs. 
Jennings, in whom charity " itself was personated, made 
a call. As she entered the room Dr. Jennings was sitting- 
before the fire, and expressed himself as glad to see her, or 
would be after he became sufficiently thawed out as to 
regain full consciousness. When at last this point was 
reached, his Avife said to him: 

“ Where have you been so far, to be so chilled and stif- 
fened by the cold?" 

‘•'Oh, out of town a ways; about four miles over east. 
Do you recollect, either of you, that when Stoney's house 
was being built, a young man, one of the carpenters, fell 
and broke his hip? Maxwell is the name. Well, it is the 
mother of him who is sick, and I have just come from 
there." 

At this there passed over Myrtle a thrill of sadness, 
which was so intense as almost to smite her Avith self-con- 
demnation; but at length she gathered herself up enough 
to inquire: 

‘‘ Dr. Jennings, is Mrs. Maxwell seriously ill?" 

“ I think not. That is, she is not in a dangerous con- 
dition. She seems quite despondent though, and such 
cases are of the most difiicult kind; it is seldom a doctor 
gets any credit, and with difficulty does he maintain his 
own good merits — if he happens to have any. I dread to 
tackle them; and, Avorst of all, it rather looks as if my pay- 
ments would be few'and far between, if there be any at ulh ' 


“GOKSIDKliA 770NS. 


21 


“ Oh, doctor/' said ^[rs. Jennings, do not let ns think 
of that. If they are poor and sick, so much the more do 
they need our sympathy and attention. You know we 
only Mend to the Lord’ when we do a favorable turn to 
such.’’ 

^‘Now, mother,” said Dr. Jennings, ‘Mlon’t preach us a 
very long sermon to-day. It seems to me I have lent a con- 
siderable to the Lord, in my life, jiggling around over rough 
roads; and somehow 1 cannot see as it has been of any 
great benefit to the Jennings’ so far. To be sure 1 never 
lost much, and if I do, 1 usually mean to make it up off 
some rich chap, who, like Stoney over here, is able to pay a 
good square doctoi'’s bill and never feel it.” 

“ Do you think, doctor,” said Myrtle, “ that the Maxwells 
are really in need, or suffer for the comforts of life?” 

Oh, I don’t know — guess not. J’hoy have a little patch 
of a farm there, a cow or two, and I saw a few old hens. 
But they are not the kind of folk given to telling* their busi- 
ness to any one but the Maxwells. Right smart old 
couple though I It does seem a pity that boy of theirs 
couldn’t have braced up and faced the music a spell longer, 
and I believe I could have pulled him through.” 

“ Did you get vour pay for voui- services there?” asked 
Myrtle. 

‘^Yes, every cent. Oh, they’re not the ones to let an 
honest debt go unpaid, if they can pay it. 1 feel sure of 
that.” 

Nothing further was said in regard to the Maxwells, and 
after a pleasant conversation of half an hour upon to]>ics 
in general, IMyrtle bid ‘‘good-afternoon” to the twain, and 
took her leave. Here truly was another question, or cir- 
cumstance, for consideration. The nearer she approaches 
“ Stoiiey Mansion” the more disturbed is she by it, and 
the more does it haunt her. As she steps upon the great 
veranda, and lays her hand upon the rich door-latch, it seems 
she can almost see prints of blood, s})illed there for herl 
She has not far to look to behold the identical spot where 
Mildred Maxwell was picked up, and from which he was 
borne away. A life as well as “father’s money and 
energies,” has been sacrificed that she may have a beauti- 
ful home! Now to realize the sorrows of that father and 
mother who were called upon to give up their only child! 
Oh, there is such a certain sublime, awful sadness about 


^^GONSIDERA TIONfi/* 


the matter, as to cast a gloom over all the beautiful; and 
it convinces her that she has something more important be- 
fore her than to receive and entertain ” the many or 
few, as they may be, society leaders’^ of Bonville Here 
is a debt wliicli she honestly owes, and can never hope to 
])ay, but to do something by way of lessening it she must. 
It is with aching heart and hasty steps that she reaches 
her own room, and picking up her Bible she opens and 
reads: 

He that taketh not up his cross, and followetli after 
Me, is not worthy of Me.^' 

Then the song: 

‘‘ Fade, fade each earthly joy, 

Jesus is mine ; 

Break every tender tie, 

Jesus is mine ! 

. Dark is the wilderness. 

Earth has no resting-place, 

Jesus alone can bless, 

Jesus is mine 

Flowed sweetly and calmly from her lips. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Loxg does Myrtle sit in her room, half awake and half 
asleep; unconscious of all about her, but perfectly conscious 
of a far-away yet distinct voice calling her to come, to go, 
to stay, to give, to lend, to do something which her feeble 
brain and nerves at present Cannot grasp; all she can do 
is to submit, and await developments. Thus, in a state of 
perplexity, joy and sorrow, of which the latter was far 
predominate, she reached the dining-room at supper-time, 
and took lier usual place. 

‘^Myrtle, what makes you so pale to-night?’^ asked Mrs. 
Stoney, as soon as she noticed that such was the case. 

I guess I am not pale, am I? I went out for quite an 
extensive walk to-day, and found it very cold, and I 
probably overdid the matter a little. 1 called at Dr. 
Jenningsk^^ 


^‘COKSIDERAriONS:^ ^ 29 

‘'Did you? Is he pretty full of business these days?’’ 
inquired Mr. Stouey. 

“ He did not say as to his business in general, -only spoke 
of the tiip he had just taken. It was to Mr. MaxwelTs. 
Father, you remember the young man who was so seriously 
hurt here on this house, do you not?” 

“Yes; what about liim?” 

“Did you know he died?” 

“ Why — yes — I guess I heard something about it.” 

“ His mother is down sick, the doctor said, and he had 
just been there to see her.” 

No one made any response to this, but all seemed to be 
more deeply interested in the disposition of the meal, if 
possible, than ever. Finally Myrtle ventured to remark: 

“ I suppose they are quite poor.” 

“The old gent,” said Mr. Stoney, “bought a sack of 
flour at the store a few weeks ago, and as he paid for it he 
said: 'That is the last 1 have got,^ so 1 presume they are 
not very flush.” 

“ This is proving to be a matter for consideration 
indeed,” thought Myrtle, as she choked down a few more 
bites to cast away all suspicions, and then asked to be 
excused to attend to a little matter of importance in the 
library. This “ library call” had become of such common 
occurrence to the household that they were never aroused 
to any suspicions. So Myrtle gets away easily from the 
table, and seeks the center of her attractions. 

After an evening spent in meditation and serious thoughts 
in regard to things, as they seemed thicker and faster to 
force themselves upon her, and a night of refreshing sleep, 
she goes to the store quite early tlie next morning and 
asks her father: 

“Can I have Joe drive me out of town a piece to-day, 
father?” 

Joe is the faithful gardener, hostler, and “Jack of all 
trades” about the mansion. He has served long and well, 
and has won the full confidence, as to his trustworthiness, 
of the entire household. Myrtle has often found in him a 
counselor and comforter, and thus especially are his serv- 
ices and his presence in the house invaluable to her. 

“Yes; you can go, of course; but it must be quite im- 
portant business which takes you far from homo on such a 
cold da}’, and, to my judgment, you had better postpone it 
until a more moderate day.” 


30 


^^COKSIDERA TIDES. 


wish to see Mrs. Knox, and engage her to perforin a 
musical part at tlie rehearsal, wliich is to take place here in 
about two weeks.’’ 

Very well. She will bo ready to do her part. Go pre- 
pared to face this cold east wind for five miles, remember.” 

Yes, thank you; I shall take very good care of myself. 
Good-'by.” 

Engaging the services of Joe and Chesterfield,” the 
large, black carriage-horse, who is speedily secured to the 
swell-body culter, and is at the door, impatiently pawing and 
})ra]icing, as if he were only too thankful for an oppor- 
tunity of going sleigh riding.” 

“Jump in there!” said Joe, as Myrtle came down the 
steps. “ I shall freeze my ears again, I expect — but Joe’s 
ears are not to be considered when it’s yourself that blows 
the bugle. Jump in, I say!” and with extra precaution 
<ioes he tuck up the huge fur robe, and see that all is well 
for the comfort of Myrtle Sto?iey before he ventures to 
take his place by her side. “ Kow, Lord Chesterfield, Just 
light out, and show what you’re made of I” said he, as he 
gave the lines a slap which left their marks on Chester- 
lield’s smooth, shiny back. “ Myrtle Stoney must see 
.Mrs. Knox, and that big song must be sung, or down goes 
— t)arty, ^lyrtle Stoney, house, firm and all, and then what 
will become of ‘ poor old Joe!'” 

The jingling of the bells and the sharp, bracing air are 
successful in restoring to the cheeks and lips of Myrtle 
about their wonted hue. 

“Tliis will be a nice ride, Joe, and I think weshall both 
be the better for it. 1 wish to call at a certain place on 
our way out or back. Which will be the better?” 

“ S’poso it makes any diff’rence to this body? Jest say 
the identical word when you’re ready to hop out, and I’ll 
be there.” 

“Very well; then I will call on our way out. But I 
wish to enter into a little contract with you, Joe.” 

“All right! It takes us two to make a bargain every 
time. What am I to do as my part of the contract?” 

“ Do nothing, only keep still. I wish to make this call, 
and do not want our folks to know about it. You know, 
Joe, that father is a little peculiar in regard to certain 
things, and we must necessarily keep certain matters to 
ourselves.” 


^'CONSIDERA TIONSr 


31 


Bless your soul! Gruess I ain^t lived longer than you 
have with Tiiomas Stoney, and do not know tliat. Joe 
Tinker learnt that years ago; and don^t he practice it every 
day? If I happen to make a mistake or two, Fm not the 
man to run right straight and tell Thomas Stoney all about 
it. I jest let it go, and try to redeem myself by doiiJ 
‘ better further on.' Pshaw, it's all nonsense to tell him 
everything. No, sir — no ma'am — your pardon. Miss 
Myrtle; whatever you see fit to tell this man Joe is as 
fast and secure as with Myrtle Stoney. Rely thereon! 
S’pose I ever told you how many times I ever stole a kiss 
from that little plump cheek, when I used to trot you on 
my knee? No, sir; Joe's b}^ no means the man given to 
talebearin'. It's a mean business. So's divulgin' secrets." 

Well, Joe, I wish, to call at ^Ir. Maxwell's; I will give 
you my reasons and tell you more about it when we have 
more time." 

Maxwell's! That's the name of the young feller that 
was killed a buildin' on your house. What's your notion a 
callin' there — or ain't it for Joe to know?" 

‘‘Mrs. Maxwell is sick, as I learned from the doctor, and 
her sickness seems to be of such a nature as to cause her 
' to be greatly depressed in spirits; I did not know but I 
^ might say something a little cheerful to her, or do sonie- 
‘-thing to help her." 

“ Course you can! If we can git the brakes put on to 
Chesterfield here in time to stop at that door, you shall 
jest so sure have your own will done in this case as in 
every other, and not mine; for miiie would a-been to sit 
by the fire and a-toasted on myself this 'ere day, instead 
.of a cornin' way off up here; but we’ll not arger that ques- 
ttion, for jest over that hill in the little holler yonder is the 
Jiouse of Mr. Maxwell, where jmu’re bound on stoppin'; so 
ft must begin to shet off steam. Whoa, Chesterfield I jest 
►cool off a little, and we'll look after the interests of this 
poor sick woman before we do Mrs. Knox's solo." 

At the foot of the hill is a by*road which turns off from 
the main-road, and a few steps — good long ones, such as 
Lord Chesterfield is wont to make — on this takes them to 
Hhe little red cottage. As they drive up to the gate it is 
\a question in Joe's mind how .Myrtle is to make her way 
through the narrow, pathless 3^ard to the door; but it is 
soon settled, when, with a draw on the left rein, he guides 


32 


‘‘COXSIDERA TIONS. 


Chesterfield immediately in front of the door. The sound 
of bells on this road, especially in the yard, is of sufficient 
importance to take Mr. Maxwell to the door. 

Good-morning,^^ said ho, as he opened the door and 
appeared; but did not dare say to such a newcomer, in 
apparently such style, Come in, lest such might be a 
direct insult to the person. Such is the sensitiveness with 
which the poor are often wont to regard their own humble 
surroundings; and stinging indeed is the effect of grand- 
ness upon their minds in tliis circumstance. He may be 
the most' hospitable and warm-hearted of men, aiid yet i? 
often classed among the ill-mannered, cold-hearted or “ pe- 
culiar people,” when he is only nursing these wounds, and 
considering how or what to do. ' " ^ 

^‘Good-morning, Mr. Maxwell,^’ said Myrtle in a cord’ ^ 
voice. “ I heard Mrs. Maxwell is sick, and calio? ' 

how she is to-day.” 

“ Oh, she is about as she has been of late; not mphb 
change. May I ask you your name? I expect maybe 1 
ought to know you, but t get out so little lately that”! 
don’t seem to know anybody.” ' ‘ ’ 

“ My name is Stoney — Myrtle Stoney — and this is‘i\Ir. 
Tinker,” politely introducing Joe. - . ' 

As Myrtle mentioned her name she saw a mist featlr 
over the eyes of tlie old man, and he seemed to choke 'ur, 
so that it was with difficulty that he said: 

“Did — you — expect— or care to come in?” 

“Yes,” said Myrtle. “ I would like to see Mrs. Maxwell 
if 3 ’ou think it will not make her worse.’’ 

“Oh, no; she likes to see folks, bur G'lat 

think it worth while to stop here.” 

Upon this, Joe lifted Myrtle from the f ..id placet 
her upon the step. She reached out her h.inu to Mr. Max- 
well, which he took, but was so overcome Avith grief and 
surprise that he was unable to express himself in any way 
only — “step in.” 

He drew up an old-fashioned rocker,' curtained and 
cushioned, bottom and back, with green calico, dotted 
Avith pin-head yelloAv dots. Quite a contrast, to be sure, 
from lier own crimson upholstered easy-chair at hoin^v 
But she accepted it Avith the tenderest of “thanks,” am 
took her seat. Here she entirely forgot about the uncome- 
liness, and only of the perfect fit it was to her back. 


^‘CONSIDEnA TIONS, 


33 




Never among all the plush and velvet of Stoney Mansion 
had she found an easier seat! For a space of time, which 
seemed a short eternity, neither spoke; finally Myrtle 
said : 

“I was passing, and having heard of your wife’s sick- 
ness, thought I would call and see if I could not do, or say 
something at least, that might be of comfort to her.” 

Well, Miss Stoney” (the very mentioning of the name 
again choked hitu), ‘‘you see — we are getting along in years, 
and hard work is getting too much for mother; you must 
excuse our appearance; you see there is no one to do any- 
thing but me” (again do the suppressed tears find vent), 
’t i? considerable for me to take care of mother and 
lo me housework beside.” 

0. ' v'^’e are no apologies due, Mr. Maxwell; and to do 

tfbh* tioe, I can speak a favorable word for you hereafter 
it honseke(|per, as well as in other respects.” 

V Mr. Maxwell went into the little bedroom off the sitting- 
Iroom, and said something to Mrs. Maxwell, and Myrtle 
^?ar’ her say: “ Why, yes; if she cares to.” After a few 
arrangements of the sick-room, Mr. Maxwell came out and 
'’aid: 


. /a CL . see .mother, if you like.” 

Myrtle stepped into the room, and Mr. Maxwell intro- 
^hced her as “ Miss Stoney.” 

Mrs. Maxwell raised her feeble arm and extended it to 
Mvrtle, which the latter took, and as she noted the eager, 
yet strangely sad face of the sick woman, she tenderly laid 
a kiss unqn, ' .Ipn hand, as if to assure her of her good 
j«,, ’ / Jr’ ^ time, Mrs. Maxwell, 


aye you _ .r 
/ ‘‘'Yes; while.” 

“ How long since you took to your bed?” 

“This is the eighth week since 1 was confined to my 
•oom.” 

“ You do uot know how sorry I feel for you, and I wish 
I could do, or at least say a word of encouragement to you 
to-day.” 

Thank 3ml, Miss Stoney; it is kind of you indeed to 
;ihk of me, and. I shall appreciate your favor, and cheer- 
ul words may uot be entirely in vain. My disease is of 
long-standing, and medicine seems to have lost its hold. 
It is heart trouble, and the doctor does not seem to give 


34 


•*GONSIDERA TIONS. ” 


me much encouragement of late/' As slie spoke. Myrtle 
noticed the unnatural fluttering of the heart, made and 
manifested in the quiver of the sheet which lay loosely 
over it, which the simple exertion of speaking seemed to 
occasion. 

Yes, Mrs. Maxwell, you are very weak, and I see it 
tires you to talk much. I notice from the sound of the 
bells that the horse is becoming very uneasy, so I must 
go now. If it would be agreeable to you, I would like to 
call again some day — perhaps in a couple of weeks, could 
I make it possible." 

‘‘Yes; you will be very welcome at any time." 

Myrtle saw by the grateful expression on the face of the 
sorrowful woman, more to prove to her the truth of her 
answer than the re[)ly itself could possibly imply; so she 
assured her she would come again, if nothing prevented, 
and with a hearty spur to encouragement, and saying, 
“I shall think of you often," she gently pressed the thin 
hand and left the room. 

“Mr. Maxwell, I have beggeJ of Mrs. Maxwell, the priv- 
ilege of calling again; do I likewise have your consent?" 

“Certainly; we should be glad to see you, if — if — you 
could ‘ condescend to men of low estate.' This is our 
station." 

“Please do not mention such a matter. It has given me 
much pleasure to come, and I have great hopes of the re- 
covery of Mrs. Maxwell. I hope to be of some help to 
you. Good-morning," said she, giving him a hand as he 
opened the door for her. 

“Good-by, Miss Stouey; we appreciate this more than 
perhaps you know.’’ 

“You cut that visit short, and it's a blessed good 
thing you did; for Lord Chesterfield, as well as myself, is 
gettin' desperate, standin' here in the snow up to our knees, 
a rubbin’ on our ears, and stampin' to keep our toes from 
ketchin' cold. All aboard! Now Mr. Lord Chesterfield, 
Esq., jest make up all this lost time, ujid do not be all day 
a-takin' on us to that air singer's, for 1 know she is almost 
a-bustin’ to sing — not ‘ so low,’ but so high! Well, Myrtle, 
bow’d ye find her? Is she very sick?" 'I'his last address 
was, of course, made by Joe, us he tucked Myrtle in and 
they drove from the little red cottage. 

“No; I don't think so, and yet I do. She has a heart 


CON SID ERA TIONS:' 


35 


trouble, which undoubtedly is painful to bear, and which 
causes her mueli uneasiness; yet cannot be considered 
dangerous. She needs good cheer and encouragement 
more than medicine.” 

In a short time tliey readied Mrs. Knox’s and learned 
that she would be only too happy to engage in the 
rehearsal on the evening mentioned, and would certainly be 
there, whether or no the Lord was willing. Tuiming 
(Ihesterfield around and heading him toward home only 
increases his enthusiasm, and Joe found it necessary to be 
considerably in earnest with him at times to keep his heels 
below the high-water mark.” 

“ Joe,” said Myrtle, ‘^rnay I ask you what you do with 
your earnings?” 

‘‘Yes, ma’am, you may ask me that very identical ques- 
tion and 1 will tell you: I save them; have to, you knowj 
for it’s not Joe Tinker that wants to spend the endin’ up 
of his days in any home .for paupers; tho’ I tell you, it 
takes close figurin’ to git a very big bank ’count. Your 
father pays me jist fifty-two dollars per year, beside m.v 
board ’ml lodgin’, and you know that ain’t tlie biggest of 
wages; not much bigger ’n what the sinnei- is said to git. ' 
I’ve now got ‘bout fifteen years’ earnin’s laid up which i 
’xpect ’ll nurse this old body through its farewell sickness, 
buy it a wrapin’-sheet, coffin, an’ dig it a grave. I am 
sometimes ’fraid, if I sh’d have kind of a-hangin’-on sort 
of disease, ’twould hardly do it; but I’m good for a year 
or two yit of lionest work, if Thomas Stoney don’t take it 
into his economical head to cut me down a peg or so in 
wages, and nothin’ serious liappens to Joe, so i hope to 
add to this amount a little. Why? do you wish to borrow 
of me?” 

“ No, I guess not. I hardly know myself why I asked 
it; but if I ever should get in a pinch, I suppose you 
would take my note in exchange for a few cents would you 
not?” 

“No, sir, I don’t want y’ur note. Y’ur is good 
enough for me,” said he, laughing heartily. He knew 
enough about Thomas Stoney’s “economy” not to be as- 
tonished at Myrtle’s question, so did not even express any 
surprise, or ask lier to explain. 

“ I think,” said Myrtle, “ Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell are 
very poor; this makes it much harder for them.” 


36 


‘ ‘ CONSIDER A TIONS. 


Yes; if that boy of theirbi had a-livod> no doubt that 
things would a-been more favorable in their old age. It 
seems a pity that all one has must sometimes be taken from 
him. As for me, I never had much to liave taken from 
me. Well, I s’pose things 'll be pretty well stirred up 
now, till that big ^ fandango ' is over with.- Say, JMyrth*. 
do yon know anything about Aunt Haniier? I overheard 
.your pa and ma a-talkiA ^bout her the other day. For 
mercy’s sake! has she resurrected?’^ 

‘‘ Yes, we got a letter from her a short time ago; she is 
in Leadville, Col. Uncle Edward is dead, and she is left in 
quite destitute circumstances.” 

‘‘Oh, for pity’s and mercy’s sake combined! She won’t 
be a-cornin’ out here to call on the Stoney’s, will she? I 
hope it’ll be a blessed short call if she does.” 

“I presume she Avill come. Father intended sending 
her an invitation to visit us.” 

“ Poor old Joe! what will ever become of him, if that 
object ever comes under his obsei-vatiou? Miss Myrtle, 
please excuse me for speak itd so kind of disrespectful con- 
cernin’ y’ur aunt. Fm not one of them kind tho’ that 
often spiles a re;il good story for the sake of a relation — 
especially Aunt Hannei’.” 

“Joe, I suppose this matter is equally as disagreeable 
to me as to you; but it seems inevitable, so what cannot be 
cured must, I suppose, be endured.” 

By this t[me Chesterfield wheels into the yard, up the 
driveway, and stopping short under the carriage-pass, 
firmly braces himself, as if afraid of pursuing his journey 
without this precaution, and gives a huge snort of relief 
and triumph. 


CHAPTER V. 

Stoney Mansion is well lighted, and all is in readiness 
for the event of the season. Never is Thomas Stoney in 
such excellent spirits as when he is permitted to display 
his body in “full dress” and the inside of his house. 
This evening he appears in all his glory, and indeed looks 
all-important, and hy no means do his actions work to the 
contrary. ^Irs. Stoney looks beautiful indeed in her blue 


^^OONSIDKUA TIONS." 


silk, made especially for the occasion, and strictly in ac- 
cordance with the last fasliion-plate. A modest train com- 
pletes the back, while a white satin bodice, flowers and a 
jewel go to make np the toilet. ‘AShe looks beautiful!’" 
Aes, all are safe in saying that: but none seem to take 
notice that the face is pale — too pale — and there is not 
perfect freedom from a look of sadness in even her smiles, 
which at times seem forced. 

Myrtle, in spite of all her father’s exhortations to the 
contrary, insists upon wearing a pink satin that has hung 
in her wardrobe at least six months, and has been exhibited 
n[>on three or four previous occasions. By no means will 
it compare real well with the brand-new gown of Angie 
Hart, at least in the judgment of the latter; but to the eye 
of a sensible observer Myrtle has no reason to take a shady 
corner, nor does she do so. The party is made np of the 
most aristocratic townspeople, whose ages range from th.at 
of Mr. and Mrs. Stoney to that of Myrtle. For the most 
part they are prominent members of the church, and are 
intelligent, and of cultivated "" tastes. AVe here make 
mention of.a few, and furtheron, if circumstances demand, 
may lead the reader to an introduction to more: Dr. and 
Mrs. Jennings; Mr. and Mrs. Knox; Squire Robins, wife 
and daughter. Miss Bertha; Rev. and Mrs. Filrnore, pastor 
of the church; also a nephew of theirs, Mr. Fred Hastings, 
from New A^ork, who is at present spending a few weeks 
at their home in hopes of learning a few useful lessons of his 
worthy uncle which may aid him in the pursuance of his 
own work in the ministiy, which profession he soon hopes 
to enter. Angie Ifart and her father are present, but noc 
All’s. Hart. Angie is commissioned by her mother to say 
that it is a source of much regret to her mother that she is 
unable to participate, but the sickness of one of the 
younger children makes it necessary. Angie herself by no 
means suffers ‘dwy 2^ am on account of it, or, if she does, 
the new cream-and-sky-bluc combination, with the careful 
attentions of Alfred Strong, teacher of penmanship and 
bookkeeping in the high school, puts it all to rout. 

As Pauline, according to her long years of careful train- 
ing and experience, ushers the merry throng into the 
brilliantly illuminated parlors — lighted more by the 
gentle touches of Myrtle than by the chandeliers — the scene 
indeed presents, at least to eyes unaccustomed, a bright and 
happy side. 


38 


^^GONSTDERA TIONS. 


Myrtle, in spite of a great amount of sadness, on account 
of questions and circumstances unpleasantly forcing them- 
selves upon her, has to a great extent overcome such feel- 
ings, at least for one evening, and has determined to get 
as much good out of the event as possible. As she reaches 
the parlor, and offers her cordial welcome and pleasure at 
vseeing particular persons present, her attention is abruptly 
arrested by the Kev. Filmore, who wishes to introduce her 
ti) a friend. 

“Certainly, Mr. Filmore; pardon me for being so taken 
up by my friends as to completely overlook a stranger.^ I 
shall expect your friend to pass a pleasant evening, and 
if you will present him to me, 1 will do my part.” 

Jlev. Fhlmore took her arm, and led her across to the 
corner where Mrs. Filmore sat. Mrs. Filmore rose, and 
after the usual salnlations had been made, Mr. F^ilmore 
passed her on to Mr. Hastings. 

“ Miss Stoney, I aiii pleased to introduce to yon my 
nephew, Mr. Hastings, of Xew York, who is at pi*esent 
visiting us, and who, being a stranger to those pi'esent, 
will rely, to a great extent, upon you for entertainment.’’ 

“ Mr. Hastings,’’ said Myrtle, “ we are glad to receive you 
into our midst. W ill you })lease tell me if you are from 
the city of Xew York or State? — that 1 may know moie 
about the nature of your case, and can better do myself 
justice in the matter to which I seeni to be elected by Mi*. 
Filmore. However, I have several able assistants present 
who will, I know, be deligiited to aid me in the work 
assigned, ^fr. Hastings, have you been long .at your 
uncle’s? 1 trust not, or we should have seen you before 
this.” 

“ I am from the city, of course. Have been three days in 
Jfonville,” said Fred Hastings, evidently doing his level 
best to prove his city-bred manners. ‘^Miss Stoney, I am 
very happy indeed to meet you in your home, and .consider 
it far beyond my expectations to have the prospects of 
such an evening as this while in Bonville.” 

“ Why! do you city people imagine us in the country to 
be so out of date and backwoodsihed that we never have 
any enjoyments?” 

‘^Xo, ma’am. Beg your pardon! but those who have 
always lived in the city know comparatively little about 
country manners and customs, and oftentimes are inclined 


s 


'‘CONSWKllA TIONSr 39 

to form wrong- ideas. I must say, thus far I am .highly 
pleased with Bonville.^’ 

^‘Now, Air. Hastings,"' said Alyrtle, must introduce 
you to Aliss Bertha Ilobins, in wliose care I propose to 
leave you, as I must be excused for awhile to arrauge 
matters in another part of the house." She likewise 
hunted out the said Aliss Robins and turned over the said 
Air. Hastings to her charge, and left the brilliancy of the 
parlors with its inmates, all of whom seem busily engaged 
in conversation, and sought the kitchen apartments, to 
see that the necessary ariangements there were being made 
and carried out. As she entered a sight met her eyes 
which served as a refreshing oasis in what seemed to her 
an unfruitful desert, in spite of all the brilliance and horns- 
of-plenty which hung about her home. 

Joe sat by tiie fire in a large old-fashioned chair, with his 
feet up in another, calinly and gratefully smoking the 
pipe of peace." 

Pauline sat on the wood-box, with a paper in her hand, 
reading a short story aloud. 

Phebe, the African cook, who had for years served and 
stood at her post, sat upon one end of the cook-table, 
freely swinging her stout legs backward and forward, and 
listening with open and appreciative eyes as well as heart. 

Hoi" said Joe, as Alyrtle entered, after giving free 
vent to an overloaded mouth of smoke, which he watches 
as it rises in little rings over his head, ^‘Thought we's 
lontsome, eh? No; we ain't lohtsome a mite; but we are 
jest as pleased to see ye as can be. Have a seat;" rising 
and giving her his chair. 

Thank you, Joe. I believe you are the best friend I 
have in the world," said Alyrtle, sinking into the chair 
and throwing her hand over the region of her heart, and 
heaving a sigh. 

“ Why! what in dis wo'ld ailds you, Alissus Alyrtle?" 
said Phebe; '' be you sick?" 

‘^No, I am not sick; I am tired. Is everything in 
readiness in the dining-room, Pauline? or will it be in 
due time?" 

Yes, ma'am," said Pauline. You can rely upon this 
side of the house. We thought we may as well read a 
clever story, and put in the time as agreeably as possible 
while we are waiting." 


40 


‘^GONSIDEIIA TIONS: 


‘•Yes, that is all right. I am glad you can enjoy your- 
selves a little.'’^ 

“Yes, sir!’’ said Joe. “You needn’t worry a speck 
bout me. Them bosses ’s all tucked ’way in the bam in 
good shape, and when you want ’em — I hope it ’ll be 
phigy early — all you have to do is to blow the signal and 
they’re there!” 

“ We tliouglit while de soup-watch was bilin’ we might 
rest dese weary bodies a heap,” said Phebe, laughing and 
at the same time holding both sides with her hands. 
“I’m mi’tv glad to see Missus My’tle restin’ he’self ’long 
wid us ’while.” 

“It doesn’t seem as if I ought to be tired; I do not 
work hard,” said Myrtle, “but to tell the truth lam tired 
of this silly nonsense. Of a choice I would prefer to 
spend the evening here with you than to go back to the 
parlor.” 

“I kno’ jest ’zackly what you want,” said Phebe, slowly 
dismounting fi-orn the table and limping, or rather wad- 
dling, to the cupboard, “ you’s goin’ to have a dwaft ob 
tea fresh from de teapot, an’ see if it don’t sort of 
streiigfen you up and stop de heatin’ ob dat poo’ little 
heart.” As she said this she carefully produced the tea, 
and pouring it into a tiny cup handed it to Myrtle. 
“Now drink dat, my chil’, an’ in less dan five minutes I 
specs to hea’ from you as bein’ bettah an’ in a ’proved 
condishun.” 

“ Oh! bless your dear good self, Phebe. You are ever 
applying the -healing balm to the sorest spots. I know I 
shall feel better.” After slowly drinking the tea, she re- 
luctantly I'ose and said: “ Well, I suppose duty calls me 
to the front, but of a choice I would remain here.” 

As she was about to leave Joe said: 

“ Well, Myrtle, wa are truly sorry for ye, but you know 
the hul vitality of this ’ere house seems to be derived from 
you; so for mercy’s sake an’ mine, don’t gin out!” 

On her way back she went through tne dining-room, 
where the tables, spread with snowy-white linen, silver, 
gold and china, and its profusion of flowers, looked truly 
beautiful, as they awaited the substantial, life-giving ele- 
ments; and’ she realizes that she has no reason to give her- 
self any uneasiness in regard to matters here. Slowly does 
she pass through the gorgeous apartments and reaches the 


^'CON^SW mA TTON^^. 


41 . 


parlor door. All are as busily engaged as when she left 
them, and she Hatters herself that she has not, perhaps, 
been missed. But as she farther advances into the depths 
of the circle, she at once finds herself within the powers 
inevitable, as well as those of Fred Hastings. 

‘MVhy, ^liss Stoney, you must have had many and very 
urgent demands made upon yourself; you have been a long 
time out of the parlor. Xow will you please fulfiil the 
demands here, and sliow us a bit of your skill as a pianist?'’ 
taking her arm and leading her to the piano, where she 
took her seat without the least hesitation. 

fiMiank you! .1 make no real pretensions, but am 
never happier than when I am drawing out these sweet 
melodies, even if it be in something of an awkward 
manner.” 

As she finished speaking he seated himself, much to her 
annoyance, immediately at the left of the instrument, 
where he could watch the management of both her hands. 

She slowly and sweetly strikes upon a brilliant 
waltz of no great compass or depth, but a combina- 
tion of simplicity and solemn tenderness. At first she 
keenly feels the annoyance of the stranger, but soon over- 
comes all, and is carried far beyond the left hand, front 
corner of the piano to the heavenly quarters, from whence 
comes inspiration sublime. After the execution of a single 
piece she arose and said: 

Mr. Hastings, we shall expect to hear from you alittle 
later on. I was not, of course, conscious of your presence 
when I arranged this program, so my first duty is to cer- 
tain ones who are on the list, and who have come doubly pre- 
pared to exhibit. Please excuse me;” rising and crossing 
over to the region of i\Irs. Knox, who sat impatiently wait- 
ing for an opportunity of displaying her bi’and-new wine- 
satin, as well as her solo skill. Taking her arm she led 
her to her seat, and as she did so, said: 

Mr. Hastings, hei’e is Mi-s. Knox, who is exceedingly 
apt as a pianist and vocalist. I see you ai'e very apprecia- 
tive of music, and feel assured you will enjoy what she has 
to tell you.” 

As she turned to go away Mrs. Knox struck up an or- 
chestra all of her own, and completely drowned all of Mr. 
Hastings’ pleas that Myrtle should occupy the seat next to 
his own, so she finds herself once more free from him. She 


42 


^^COKSIDERA TI0K8. 


seeks out the Mrs. Dr. Jennings, and as a natural result 
of tile minds of the two, the conversation at once drifts in 
the direction of the humble scene four miles to the east. 
Myrtle, in a low, confidential voice, relates to Mrs. Jen- 
nings tlie call she has made at Mr. Maxwell’s, and quietly 
do the two lay more than one plan for relieving the needs 
of this family, wtiile the rest are feasting upon gayety as 
well as Mrs. Knox’s solo, which is now — oh, so high! 

After she (Mrs. Knox) has acted well her jiart, the pro- 
gram was speedily carried out; after whicli Myrtle ap- 
proached Mr. Hastings, and as she beckoned him to Ids 
feet, she said in a commanding voice: 

We have here a Uev. Mr. Hastings, of New York City, 
who, although last on the })r()gram, yet by no means is 
least. I make him our valedictorian, and now we will be 
favored by an execution of his powers as an artist.” 

He bowed his polite bow of thanks, and established 1dm- 
self on the stool. Myrtle slipped to the remotest jiart of 
t he room and took her seat by Dr. Jennings. While the 
fairly developed talent of Mr. Hastings showers itself upon 
the company. Myrtle says to the doctor: 

Doctor, you do not care much for music, and I know 
you would rather talk with me for a few minutes.” 

He bowed his certainly ” to her complete satisfaction, 
and she proceeds: 

‘‘Have you called at Mr. Maxwell's on any of your 
drives the past week? If so, how is Mrs. 

‘•'Yes: 1 was there day before yesterday. She seemed 
more calm, ami spoke several times of your call, and said 
she hoped to see you again soon. Really, I believe you are 
the best doctor of the two. Now, I suggest that you and 
Mrs. Jennings take the case off my hands. That woman 
don’t require medicine; all she needs is cheering np, and 
we men are not worth a snap at such kind of business.” 

“Oh, that is deliglitful in you, doctor. We will go to 
see her the first hour off we have. I must congratulate you 
on your generosity in giving her over to us.” 

By this time F!-e<l Hastings is putting the finishing 
touches to his galop “ Brilliante,” and Myrtle, much 
against her will, finds iierself obliged to ofl'er a ci\il con- 
gratulation or two, after which she goes to find him a 
])lace to sit. She leads him to the side of Bertha Robins, 
expecting to leave hiui there, but at this minute Thomas 


•‘CONSIDER A TIONS: 


43 


Stoney appears in tlie doorway and announces that all is in 
waiting in the dining-room. This does not give Myrtle 
siiliicient time to cut the thread in a truly civil way, thus 
prohibiting Mr. Hastings from claiming her company at 
table. This he at once does claim, and of course she can 
not do otherwise than accept. 

Promptly do the guests, arm in arm, make their way to 
the 10:30 o^clock sup[)er, which stands beckoning them — 
not heavenward, but, according to the late reformatory 
eiforts, in the opposite direction. 

Myrtle’s eyes are by no means closed in the face of this 
reform; but wide open to it, and it is with a heavy heart 
that she takes her place by the side of Kev. Hastings at 
the board. After the usual pious grace ” of Kev. Pil- 
more is poured out in fitting fluency, the party at once 
enter upon conversation and soup. Mr. Hastings thus 
addresses Myrtle, as he sips and puffs at his oyster to 
cool it: 

‘‘ Miss Stoney, you country people believe in early hours, 
I guess. In the city we very seldom see refreshments be- 
fore the midnight hour.'’ 

Myrtle felt such indignation rising in her throat as 
nearly impeded the progress of an oyster as she responded 
with difficulty: 

Early hours! Oh, what incipient fools this social ele- 
ment does make of people! Please pardon my abruptness 
and inelegance of speech, but I believe more in the gentle 
refreshment, sleep, at the midnight or even eleventh hour of 
the night, than I do in rich cake, fried oysteis, clams, 
chicken salad, mince pies, strong coffee and — the blushing 
goblet.” 

“I am to understand from this that you are on the re- 
form ticket, then?” 

“Ido not suppose my name has a conspicuous place upon 
any ticket, as yet; but I have considerable respect for my 
stomach 'and brain, as well as for the laws of healtli 
and God.” 

“ It will never do for you to come to the metropolis 
with your doctrine, IMiss Stoney. ’riie social element 
there is so strong that it vies with -any kind of law. It is 
a law of itself.” 

“ Do you, in the pulpit, put social law before the laws 
of your God.^” 


44 


^'GONISIDERA TIONS: 


“ Oh, no. Miss Stoney; believe me, I make God's law 
tlie constant study of my heart at all times. But you 
know to get hold of people- we must -take them when and 
wliere we find them. To a certain extent we must enter 
into their ways and customs, or they will spurn us and 
place us on the list of cranks, who are always going about 
with their reforms.’' 

“Then, as I understand you, it is better to act two 
parts, even if one be on the side of Wrong, than to carry 
well only the part of Right?" 

“ Oh, no; 1 do not often tolerate the wrong, only till I 
am convinced that it is wrong, and when I see it does not 
detract from the right to take too radical a stand in favor 
of right as we see it to be." 

“Are you not convinced that late hours and suppers are 
detrimental? If not, let me convince you. ^ Come, learn 
of me.'" 

“ Why, yes; I think — perhaps, as a general thing — it is 
better to be quite regular in our habits, but, you know, 

^ when in Rome we must do as the Romans do.'" 

“I am not in Rome," said Myrtle, “ but I am in the 
Stoney family, and not until to-night has this question so 
forced itself upon me as to command my indignation; 1 
intend that it shall receive my must careful consideration." 

“ What's that. Myrtle?" said Stephen, her brother, who 
was in the midst of silks and viands. “ What's Myrtle got 
into her head now for consideration? She is one of the 
considerate kind?" 

“ She tliinks late hours and suppers a nuisance," said 
Kred Hastings, “but she only need to come to Hew A^ork 
for a spell to have such notions upset." 

“ Well, Myrtle has some pretty good ideas," said Ste- 
phen, “if she is my sister; 1 try to value her judgment 
when she don't carry things too far." 

The conversation between Myrtle Jind Mr. Hastings had 
been unheard or unnoticed by the majority of the guests, ex- 
cepting Stephen, who sat directly opposite, and who caught 
a word occasionally, when he could tind the time to heed, 
between the enchanting strains of converse as they poured 
from the lips of Bei tha Robins at his side*. 

“I think," said Myrtle, “ by the reports we read of late 
in regard to tlie sullerings of oin* |)Oor people in the 
cities, that we good people better devote more of our extra 


•^COKSIBBUATIONSr ^ 45 

energies and useless lute suppers to the alleviation of the 
same, instead of spending so much upon ourselves/' 

“True," replied Mr. Hastings, “there is much need of 
charity, and much is being done in this dii-ection: but all 
efforts seem only a drop in the bucket, so great is the 
demand." 

“ Perhaps you could well retaliate and say to me: 'Phy- 
sician, heal thyself;' but it is not to please myself that I 
})articipate to-night; for my mind and heart are in a bet- 
ter work. I suppose I am a trifle like you; must indulge 
to a certain extent, until I come out in open rebellion, 
which I feel quite sure I must do sooner or later." 

As Myrtle was finishing this last remark the waiter came 
in with tray, pitcher and goblets — oh, so beautiful to look 
upon, being of the richest silver with gold linings. As he 
began pouring the wine the passage, “ At the last it biteth 
like a serpent and stingeth like an adder," shot through 
her mind witli such force that when Mr. Hastings so ten- 
derly reached to her her share, she took it, but set it by 
her plate, and as she did so expressed openly the identical 
words. 

“What!" said Mr. Hastings, “am I not to have 'a 
sharer in this fierce and far delight?"' at the same time 
raising his goblet to his lips. 

“No; I cannot drink wine to-night. I am already 
far too undone, and do not wish to enhance my ner- 
vousness." 

The gayety of the occasion was at high tide, and all 
were too much engaged in their own goblets to notice 
j\[yrtle's refusal of hers. In due time all were drained, 
and with flushed cheeks, made so by excitement and dissi- 
pation, the silky element rustled back into the parlor, 
Thiomas Stoney, with ^Frs. S. on his arm, taking the lead; 
lie with a much redder face and larger stomach than usual, 
and she with a wan, tired look, whose pale cheeks bore a 
smart tinge of the “ rosy " as well. After reaching the 
parlor Myrtle broke away from Fred Hastings, with the 
excuse: “ There are friends whom I have shamefully 
neglected this evening, and now they must have my 
attention." 

A few games of euclire, chess, and another small supply 
of music, brought about the holy, small hour of the night, 
even the twelfth; and it was suggested by some member of 


46 


**CONSIDERA TIONS. 


the party (no doubt the most considerate) that perliaps it 
was time to adjourn. Soon all fell in with the wise idea, 
and shortly after twelve the four Stoney^s stood in a group 
in the large parlor door, bowing their good-nights to 
the guests.” 

As soon as the room was cleared Myrtle went immedi- 
ately to her room. She was exhausted and so wrought up 
by things in general, and by the intrusion which she felt 
Fred Hastings had made upon herself during the evening, 
that she could not sleep and she knew it, so slipping into 
a loose wrapper she threw herself across the foot of her 
bed. She had not been there long when a rap at her door, 
and Pauline^s voice is at once recognized: 

Miss Myrtle, your mother wishes you to come to her 
room at once; she is not well.” 

Myrtle responded to the call, and upon entering her 
mother’s room found her in her niglit clothes and in bed. 
As she went to her side — 

‘MVhat is the matter, mamma? I thought you looked 
tired out to-night. Where is papa?” 

“ He said he must go to the store to make a few prepa- 
rations for to-morrow, and he has not come in yet. It is 
you I want. Myrtle.” 

Yes, mamma; I am here and am glad of it. AVHiat can 
I do for you?” 

I am so cold and nervous; please rub my hands and 
feet.” 

As Myrtle placed her hands upon those of her mother, 
she was startled to realize how cold and clammy they were. 

Yes, mother, you are cold. You are overcome by too 
much anxiety and fatigue. I will rub you, and I think we 
can get action started. Pauline, will you please go to the 
kitchen and tell Phebe to send me a pail of foot-bath 
water? She will know how to tix it. Now, mamma, do not 
try to talk; if you have anything to say to me let it go 
until morning; you need rest now.” Here Mr. Stoney 
appeared on the scene: 

Hello! What’s the matter with Lady Stoney? Drank 
too much toddy, eh?” 

“ No, father,” said ^[yrtle, mamma is tired out. The 
excitement and responsibility of the evening has been too 
much for her. Now, father, yon must work hard to-mor- 
row, so I beg you to take another room and leave mamma in 


^'CONSIDERA TIONSr 


47 


my care. I will send for Phebe and we will take good care 
of lier.’^ 

“To be sure, and you will not have to argue that ques- 
tion with rue, for I am so infernal tired and near used up 
that I am only too glad for a chance to rest. Good-night; 
I guess Florence will be as good as new in the morui ug. 
Brace up; I am so in hopes Hannah will come soon. She 
will be a gi-eat help to you both in such cases, if she is as 
much given to society as she used to be.’" 

As he said this he bowed his way out and sought his pil- 
low, all aglow with excitement and the bitter effects of 
high life gnawing at his vitals. 

Soon Pliebe came with the steaming foot-bath, and she 
and Myrtle with difficulty succeeded in soothing Mrs. 
Stoney and putting her into a quiet sleep. Phebe then 
said : 

“Now, Missus Myrtle, I Pink you be de one now dat 
wants a speck ob quiet slumbeh, an’ if you wil’ leab Mrs. 
Stoney wid me an’ go fur it. I’ll jest staiP at my pos’ on- 
movable.” 

“Yes, Phebe, I am very tired and I know mamma will be 
as safe in your hands as in my own. 1 will leave you and 
see if I can get a little sleep. She may need me to-mor- 
row. If you w'ant anything of me, call. Good-night.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

Early in the morning IMyrtle was awakened by the rap 
of Pauline, saying that Mrs. Stoney was awake and wished 
to see her. She made a hasty but neat toilet, and went 
first into the great veranda to catch a breath of invigora- 
ting air, then immediately to her mother’s room. She 
found her somewhat refreshed by the few hours of sleep, 
but still very weak and nervous. 

“Oh, MyVtle, I am so tired and have such a headaclie 
that 1 <lo not see how I can get up. Can’t you rub my 
head awhile and let me lie liere? I do not feel as if I 
could se»e a person’s face to-day but yours.” 

Myrtle bathed her head with cool water. The veins 
stood out altogether too bold and they beat too swiftly to 
suit her. “ No, you shall not get up; I will bring you 


48 


^‘CONSIDER A TIONS. 


some breakfast, and stay here with von all dav, if you 
like/^ 

am so glad, Myrtle. AVhat did your/father say last 
night about Hannah? Did he say she was coming soon?^’ 
Xo; he said when she came she would be,a help to you 
in your social position. 

Oh, Myrtle, do you know I am sometimes weary of 
these things, and wish there were no such a thing as a 
social obligation? I am so tired. They are infringing 
upon my health. But you are the only one upon earth to 
whom I dare breathe a complaint.’^ 

** AVell, you may complain to me all you wish. I atn 
tired of them, too. Tliey say misery likes company,^ so 
we will be company for each other in this respect. What 
ar^ we to do to break the fetters?’^ 

As for myself there is no breaking them. Your father 
is very fond of society, and it seems to be the vital spark to 
him. Then it has such an influence toward increasing our 
trade, and, in fact, to hold our place among ])eople and the 
grip we have upon them, we must do a certain amount of 
this kind of work. I dread to have Hannah come, too, 
but I do not see why I feel so. She is your father’s sister, 
and has been unfortunate, and it is an obligation which 
rests upon me. It is not right for me to feel so about it, 
but I cannot help it. The more I think about it the 
Avorse I feel. What shall I do?^"" 

Yes, it is right that we feel just as we do. She is in 
nowise congenial, and does not try to make herself agree- 
able (or never used to) and Avliy should W’e w^ant her to 
come! I dread it with my whole heart, and do not see 
how I am ever to endure a very long visit from her.*" 

We must not allow ourselves to give Avay to such feel- 
ings. She is your father's only sister, and for his sake we 
must w^elcome her and bear all Avith as good grace as pos- 
sible. Your father, yon know, does much to make us 
comfortable, and we must do everything to his interest.*’ 

It is not to his interest to take Hannah in, but let us 
not borrow trouble about it to-day. ‘ Suflicient unto the 
day is the evil thereof.’ I am anxious that you get some 
rest. If you will excuse me now I Avill go and get you some 
breakfast.” 

** Yes, and you must cat your own, too. I intend to get 
some sleep to-day if I can, and you may use any fair means 
which may grant it to me.” 


^‘COXSIDERA TlOKSr 


49 


As Myrtle went through the hall she met her father just 
on his way downstairs. He looked simply wretched. His 
lialf-opeii eyes were sunken and red, and it was with a sour 
voice that he managed to incjuire: 

How’s yonr mother this morning?” 

She is quite ill. She prefers to remain in bed and get 
some sleep, so I told her 1 would carry her breakfast i(» 
her. I intend to stay with her all day and care for her. 
She is very nervous.” 

Well, I guess a little sleep would be quite a clever 
thing for me to experience too. If I am not needed, 1 
shall try and get some or a good deal of rest. I earnestly 
hope business at the store will not drive me hard to-day, 
for I feel infernal tired. Cheer Flos” (meaning Florence) 

up all you can, and she will come out as straight as an 
arrow in time.” 

After a light, unrelished, indigestible breakfast he made 
his way to the store, where he sought to drive away the 
serious effects of dissipation by still more — smoking and 
lounging. He got his wish, for but few customers came to 
the counter during the day, and at night he, as well as 
Stephen, realized that the cash account did not net very 
high in favor of Thomas Stoney. 

Myrtle cared for and watched by her mother until 
about the middle of the afternoon, when feeling so much 
the need of exercise in tlie fresh air, she called Pauline, 
with her mother’s consent, to fill her place for an hour 
while she went for a short walk. Once upon the street, 
she sought her co-worker, Mi*s. Jennings. 

‘‘ I presume you do not care particularly about seeing 
callers to-day, Mrs. Jennings, if you are any like ourselves 
at home,” said Myrtle, as J\trs. J. opened the door to her; 
“but please let this be a very informal one. . I was out 
for a walk, and just thought to step in for a few 
minutes.” 

“ No apologies- are due. Miss 8toney. You are always 
welcome. Come in and we may lay a plan or two.” 

“ Mamma is sick and unable to leave her room, and 1 
must not stay long. I have been nursing her all day. She 
is somewhat, or altogether, overcome by the excitement of 
last evening.” 

“I am not in the least surprised, Miss Stonev, to hear 
it. Your mother is not always going to keep up on excite- 


50 


^‘GONSIDEnA TT0N8. 


ineiit, and carry tlie load slie is carrying. »Slie is failing. 
I can see it plainly. 

“I realize the trutli, Mrs. Jennings, and it is very pain- 
ful to me; but at present I am unable to make an amend- 
ment to the constitution of the Stoney establishment. I 
can only bear with matters as they are for the present. I 
wish I might do more to help my mother. Mrs. Jennings, 
what day can you go with me to call upon Mrs. Maxwell? 
1 can go as soon as mamma gets so I can leave her long 
enough. 

“ Let us set the day after to-morrow. I have an extra 
amount of work planned for to-morrow; probably by the 
next day your mother will be better.'’^ 

“ That will suit me. I will have Joe drive us there. 
We will go immediately after dinner, if that hour pleases 
you. Do you think we had better take a little something 
along, or go ‘ empty-handed?’ 

Yes; I will bake up an extra amount to-morrow, and 
just tnake up a nice little box, and you can take such as 
you see fit. I do not see any use in our going if we do not 
take something beside our smiles. They are all right, of 
course, as far as they go, and quite essential; but people 
cannot subsist upon them alone. Do you know that I have 
been talking to the doctor, and have persuaded him to make 
no further charges against them, and I intend to encourage 
them so much, at least, as to tell them that they are square 
with us.'’^ 

Oh, that is magnificejit in you and him both! I am 
so glad. But I must hurry home, for I fear mamma will 
need me. Good-afternoon,^’ and Myrtle hastens home, 
elated at her prospects. 

As she entered her mother’s room she found her father 
sitting in his easy-ciiair by the fire, and her mother in a 
comfortable condition. He motioned her into the chair by 
Iiis side and said: 

‘^Myrtle, I suppose we all feel the worse for our tear 
last night, but it will all wear away in a sliort time, and 
we will be as anxious for another as we were for this.” 

Do you imagine me anxious about such matters, 
father?” 

Why, yes; you are as anxious to see things done in an 
acceptable mau/ier as any of us.” 

“ I feel glad for your sake — if we must have them — that 


^'CONSIBERA riONS: 


51 


they be acceptable, of course; but really, father, for my own 
sake, I care but little about such social tear-ups.” 

Yes; you tell the truth in this. You care less about 
many important matters which pertain to our immediate 
welfare and prosperity than I like to see you. I wish you 
vvoiild arouse yourself from yonr stupor, and enter into the 
spirit of these things, Myrtle, for our sakes — for my sake. 
You know it is with a great expense that I keep up this 
house for you and your mother.” 

“ I know it is, father, and 1 try to realize and appreciate 
all your efforts; but to be frank and speak plainly, I do 
not care for grandeur. I would rather have less of this 
world's goods, and see others, who are in need, have more.” 

Myrtle, this is decidedly ungrateful in you, and I 
believe you will see the day w hen you will sincerely repent 
of the injustice you do me.” 

“ Do you not think, father, that it is trying upon the 
constitution of us all to hold this social position, and to be 
up so much nights? I know it is wearing upon mamma, 
and I, for another, cannot dissipate. It makes me sick.” 

‘‘Perhaps, to a certain extent. But what is therein 
life, if we are not to have any pleasures? ‘All w’orkandno 
play makes Jack a dull boy.'” 

Myrtle said w'ith a sort of derisive smile: “Is it any 
pleasure to do those things which impair our health? I 
think a truly happy life is the one that keeps us out of 
misery and does good.” 

“ Well, I have no idea we shall sink very far into the 
depths of misery as long as Steve and I can stand at the 
wheel. I guess Hannah will be here soon, and she can 
help a sight in this line. She enjoys life and likes to see 
others enjoy it.” 

To these words Myrtle made no reply, but rose and went 
to the bed of her mother, and said: Mamma, is there 
anything I can do for you just now?” 

“No, dear; all I need is quiet and rest.” 

Myrtle went quietly out and left Mr. and Mrs. Stoney 
alone. Mr. Stoney then said to his wife: 

“ Well, Florence, I am sorry to know the revelry had 
such a serious effect upon you. You must brace up, and 
not give way to such things, it seems to me as if you 
ought to bear up a little better. I am going to write 
at once for Hannah to come, and she can nurse you up. 


52 


‘ ‘ CONSIDER A TIONS. 


and sort of take the lead in such matters; this will relieve 
you to a great extent/'^ As he spoke he went to the bed, 
and was much surprised to note the cold clamminess 
of her hands and the manner in which they trembled as 
she raised them to him. 

‘^Why, Florence, you are all undone. You need a 
long rest and a bit of motherly care. I will send for 
Hannah.'"’ 

Yes, I need rest; but wish no other care beside that 
which Myrtle is able to give me. She is so soothing to 
me, and I do not feel like seeing people." 

‘‘ Well, Myrtle can take care of you if you choose, but 
the care of the house, and you too, will be too much for 
her. 1 shall go directly and send for my sister." 

He left the room, and what passed over the mind of 
Florence Stoney none ever knew. When Myrtle went 
again to the room she found her mother in a low stupor, 
and as night drew on she saw signs of an approaching 
fever, which at once aroused her curiosity, or rather anx- 
iety, and going in search of Joe sent him immediately 
for Dr. Jennings. 

Upon the doctor's arrival, and a thorough examination 
of the case, he pronounced it to be a complete prostration 
of nerve force, brought on by an overdose of anxiety and 
excitement. He ordered her to be kept perfectly quiet, and 
free from all care; thought by careful attention she miglit 
be rallied to her original self. After prescribing a tem- 
porary remedy for the fever, and a gentle, ready stimu- 
lant, he went home. As he responded to his wife's 
inquiries in her regard, it was with a deep sigh of regret 
and — 

Oh! I do dread to tackle such cases. They are hard to 
manage. Here's a note Miss Stoney sent to you," handing 
her the letter, which said: 


“ Dear Mrs. Jek^sINGS: Unless there be a change in 
mamma for the better I cannot leave her to go on the 
errand the day after to-morrow, as we have planned. If I 
cannot go, 1 am going to ask you to go anyway. Here is 
%5 wliich I have gathered together. Will you please give 
it to Mrs. Maxwell, with my best wishes, and tell her why 
i am prevented from making tlie visit? Ask her for me 


•'GONSWmA TIONSy 53 

to accept the money in confidence, and use it as she most 
needs. I shall hope to see her soon. 

Myrtle Stoney.” 


Myrtle went to the store, wliere she sought her father, 
to convey to him the doctor^s report, and lie at once in- 
formed her that he liad sent a fifty-dollar check to Han- 
na!), and told her to come as soon as she possibly could. 

Myrtle went back to her mother, and in a careful way 
told her of her father^s proceedings. To which her 
mother said, in a low, trembling voice, and as she spoke 
her eyes filled with tears: 

Yes; he told me he was going to send for her. God 
give us strength to bear all. Myrtle, unless I am better, 
I cannot see Hannah when slie does come. I cannot see 
any one but you, and Phebe, and Pauline.” 

You need not see her or any one unless you like. In 
fact, the doctor forbids you seeing people for awhile. I 
am going to take cai'o of you.” 

This evening in her room (she has gotten Pauline to 
spell her in the sick-room for a few minutes) Myrtle ^re- 
volved in her mind the condition of affairs. She could see 
at least two bright features in the case, viz.: their doors 
would be closed to all society for awhile, and she will have 
much time with her mothei’. She falls upon her knees 
{111(1 emphasizes her mother's feeble prayer by an earnest 
jind long plea of her own, that God will lead her in the 
right way and give her sti-ength and grace to do and bear 
:ill well. As she goes back to the sick-room, she first goes 
to the kitchen to make some necessary arrangements for her 
mother. Joe says as she enters: 

Oh, Myrtle Stoney, we be so awful sorry to know of 
your mothei*'s sickness. Now, when there's a blessed 
thing that I can do for yon or her, jest speak out an' I'm 
tliei'e.” 

Yes, Joe, we are going to take care of her ourselves, 
and your services will be invaluable.'' 

‘‘1 do hope,” said he, that folks 'll know enough to 
stay away and let all of us have n rest. 1 hope 'bove all 
that Hanner will not be a presentin' on hei’self, for mercy's 
sake!” 

Well, Joe, she will be here, for father has sent for her; 


54 


•^CONSII) ERA TI0N8. 


but you must do your best, with the rest of us, to main- 
tain peace. ‘Blessed are the peace-makers,’ you know.’’ 

“ Oh, I am clean undone; for tlie sake of your poor, sick 
ma! How will she ever bear it?” • 

“She will not see Hannah unless she gets better.” 

“ Well, now, let me tell you, to begin on, that if you go to 
sliettin’ on the doors ag’in Hanner Stoney, that there’ll 
be war in the camp right straight. I know her of old.” 

“ It matters not. The doctor says she must only see us 
until s!ie chooses to see others.” . 

“Oh, dear Lord, give this ’ere house a bracin’ up on 
all sides, if all this is to come to pass — specially for the 
sake of ‘ Poor old Joe!’” was the third prayer for fortiti- 
cation made by Joe, as he laid his hand over his huge 
heart and drew a deep sigh as Myrtle closed the door 
beliind her. “ Ha’n’t tliat Tom Stoney got a bit of sense 
— or what ails him? I should be* glad to know. But 1 
mils’ be a little sparin’ of my ’pinions ’bout 'i’homas Stoney, 
Lsq., for if he should git to hear tlieni I am quite sure Joe 
Tinker ’d git a furlough.” 

“ 1 feels jes’ so like as y’rself, Joe,” said Phebe, wiping 
her nose on a corner of her apron, and [lerchance a tear or 
so that rose in response to a jiain whicli she felt shoot 
through her heart; “but I’s Impin’, fo’ missus’ sake, de 
deah Lor’ ’ll leu’ a force to help fight ’er if she eber 
comes.” This was the quadruple plate on the sword of 
strength, eainestly applied by faithful Phebe, who was 
truly worthy to garnish and put on the finishiug touch. 

Myrtle assured her mother of the sympathies of Joe, 
Pauline and Phebe, and of their willingness to help care 
for her, and to do all they could. It was arranged that 
Myrtle should sleep in her mother’s room on a lounge-bed 
and care for her the fore-part of the night, aiii that Pau- 
line or Phebe should take her place the latter-part. Mr. 
Stoney, on account of his “ urgent demands and daily 
duties in the firm,” must not be disturbed of his rest — for 
sickness! Tiiis was the idea he presented as he sought a 
far-otf room at his earliest convenience. Joe tapped 
gently at the door on his way to his room, to reassure 
Myrtle that he intended to sleep with one eye and ear 
open, listening for a summons to the sick-chamber. 

With these careful attentions Mrs. Stoney holds her 
own for a few days, and apparently gets no worse. On the 


‘‘CONSIDER A riONS. 


55 


(lay set for the visit to the Maxwell’s, late in the afternoon, 
Mr. and Mrs. Jennings stop at the mansion; the latter, to 
give to Myrtle her report of the visit from which she is 
just returning, and tlie former to see to the welfare of 
Mrs. Stoney. 

^‘The doctor had business by there, so I w(.-nt ulong, 
and we both called. Oh, Miss Stoney I -you w'ill never 
know liow grateful those people were, 1 am afraid. At 
tlie money they shed tears of joy — 1 know' they were — and 
‘ God bless you both! We shall never forget your kindness.’ 
1 tell you it gives a person joy to do such little deeds 
of kindFiess; and how little it costs us to do them! I 
j)romised them that we would look after them and see 
that they did not suffer. They expressed their sympathy 
for you in your mother’s sickness, and hoped soon to hear 
of her recovery. By the w^ay, do you think her on the 
gain?” 

Such cases are slow',” said Myrtle. We will await 
the doctor’s repoi t.” 

AVhen Dr. Jennings came into the parlor he frankly 
told Myrtle that her mother’s case was a slow one, and all 
that could be done for her was to keep her quiet, free from 
care, and, added to this, there must be good cheer and a 
certain amount of indulgence as to her likes and dislikes. 
He said she show'ed signs of a contracted cold, as w'ell as 
prostration; but he hoped it would not prove serious. 
Doctor ami Mrs. Jennings bid them a ‘^good-day ” and 
took their leave. Myrtle w'ent to the sick-room to console 
and care for her patient. 


CHAPTER VII. 

Onk w'eek later w'e find her in the same I'oom with her 
charge; but with a sadder heart, and a body w'orn with 
anxiety of house aiid patient. Her mother is no bettcjr, 
and ii is clearly evident to Myrtle that she is on the de- 
cline. The slight cough wdiich is noticeable has in it 
much of terror to her, and its accents are no doubt hoarser 
to her ears than to others. 

On the day of the opening of this chapter the post- 
man’s ring is answered by Myrtle herself, and he hands to 
her a letter. 


56 


^^coN^^TBEUA Tioys:' 


The first touch of it almost makes a thrill pass over her 
body and soul; but with half dread, yet anxiety, glances 
at tlie postmark. Enough! Leadville, Col., reared to 
her its bold characters in the blackest of type. 

Hastily going to the dining-room, she slips tlic letter 
under the topmost plate at the head of the table. She then 
passes on to the kitchen and requests of Phebe to go to 
Mrs. Stoney, while she goes out for a breath. Going to 
the room of her mother, she puts a few comfortable 
touches to her and the room, and wdth — 

Mamma, I must go out for a few minutes to get air. 
Phebe has come to you,'’’ she laid a tender kiss on the pale 
forehead, which brought tears to the eyes of her mother, 
and went for her wraps. 

It is a bright, but cold February day. As she steps into 
the sun an invigorating wave sweeps across her fevered 
brow. Gladly she drinks in its restoring elements as she 
makes her way along the street— drifting whither, she 
hardly knows. At length she finds herself almost uncon- 
sciously at the head of Jenkins’ Lane. When she fully 
realizes as to her whereabouts, she suddenly breaks out 
into a sort of spasmodic laugh: A queer place to come 
in order to drive away despondency, and find good cheer, I 
should think!” 

At the windows of the miserable tenements she could see 
the pinched and spare faces of children, and occasionally 
that of a mother, whose pale face and agitated brow too 
plainly told the story of her life. As these sad pictures 
thrust themselves before her face she wheels suddenly, and 
burying her face in her hands she weeps bitterly for a few 
steps, murmuring: 

What shall I do! Thicker and faster are these serious 
questions thrusting themselves upon me for my weak con- 
sideration, and faster and thicker do I realize the vehe- 
mence of said questions, and my inability to cope with 
them. AFhy is it thus? Why so suddenly are my eyes 
opened to these truths as never before? It seems like I 
have the sorrows of a world upon my buck. Will it break? 
or ca,n I carry a cross with the Master?” 

Hastening from these distressing scenes as if she fain 
would forever forget them, she retraced her steps, and 
again found herself upon more tranquil waters. But she 
could not brush the picture so as to cover these bold , and 


^‘OOKSIDEllA TIONS. 


57 


rigid outlines. They were there in blackest lines, and the 
more she tried t@ forget the more conspicuous they grew. 
As she reached home she endeavored to trip up the bril- 
liant staircase with a light step; but a tug, pulling from 
behind rather than before, put a positive damper upon all 
attempts at light-hearted ness. 

Before going to the sick-room she went to her own, and 
throwing off her wraps she dropped upon her knees in de- 
spair. Nothing escaped her lips, and for how long a time 
she thus silently implored mercy she hardly knew; but the 
sudden ring for supper aroused her, and she sought the 
restorative of dining-room with a chill, for well she knew 
what the topic at the table would be; an almost intoler- 
able one to herself. As they found themselves at the 
solemn board, made especially so by the absence of 

mother, Myrtle awaited in dread silence the disclosure 
of the missive. 

As Mr. Stoney raised the first plate, he discovered the 
letter, and with, ‘‘News from Colorado,” laid it beside 
him on the table till all were served; after which Stephen 
said: 

“ Did you say you had heard from x\unt Hannah? Let 
us hear what she has to say.” 

Mr. Stoney opened and read as follows: 


“ Leadville, Col., Feb. 1, 1891. 

“ 68 Pearl Street. 

“My Deak BiiOTiiEii Thomas: Your exceedingly kind 
favor received; and truly words cannot express my grati- 
tude to you for your brotherly kindness, and the manifes- 
tation of the same in the check. I am very sorry to hear 
of the sickness of Florence; and I realize that to a man in 
your position especially, is sickness a great drawback. 

“I gladly accept the invitation to come to you, and as 
soon as I can dispose of my affairs here will come. Shall 
probably start in about two weeks. 

“ Till I come, keep up good courage, and I will help 
you bear the burden as far as my feeble back will allow. 
Am very sorry to say that I am not the strongest myself; 
and especially since Edward^s death do I long for a 
sympathizer and friend, such as only a brother can be. 


58 


‘ ‘CONSIDER A TIONS. 


/'My love to Florence and the children. I will write 
later, informing you when to expect me. 

" Your devoted sister, 

"Haxxah SpRIXCtER.” 


Well, perhaps Hannah will be of considerable service 
here during mother’s sickness,” said Stephen. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Stone)’; “I am confident that the 
present strain upon Myrtle is too great, and Hannah, 
being rny sister, will take more interest in affairs than any 
one else we could possibly get.” 

Myrtle said nothing in regard to the matter, and after 
a few desperate efforts to choke down the unrelished meal 
asked to be excused. Rising from the table she went to 
the kitchen to prepare her mother’s supper. As she opened 
the door and entered the room she could not control the 
tears which were brimming her large eyes. Before she 
could extricate her own dainty handkerchief from her 
bosom-pocket faithful Phebc came to the rescue with the 
bottom of her big checked blue-and- white apron, and gently 
laying Myrtle’s head upon her broad chest she carefully 
banished the tears and said: 

“ Why, my poo, deah chil’ ! What in dis wo’l’ makes 
you so sad? Hab you hea’d bad news, or is missus so bery 
much woV? She was comf’ble when I lef’ ’er only a sho’t 
time ’go.” 

“No, Phebe ” — Myrtle could not help smiling at the 
affair, and resting her head on its firm pillow for a minute 
or two, slie allowed herself to be cheiished like a little 
child by its fond parent — “ I guess it is neither. I am a 
little downcast to-day in spirits, and these few tears have 
relieved me; though not so much as your own dear, 
motherly kindness to me upon this occasion. Novv let 
us get a dainty supper for mamma. What shall it be?” 

The delicate toast and tea were soon arranged upon the 
tray, and Myrtle conveyed it to her mother with some- 
thing of a light step. “Well, mamma, I left you longer 
than I intended. Have you needed me?” Seating herself 
by the bed she strove to keep up a cheerful "line of 
conversation, hoping that the meal might be relished and 
enjoyed. Yet she could imagine she could read a certain 
anxious and inquiring look on the face of her helpless 


^'CON^WEllA TTOKS. 


50 


mother; and before the meal was completed her imagioa- 
tious were verified. 

Looking np at her with large, inquiring eyes, as if im- 
ploring sympathy, slie said: “Myrtle, do yon know if 
father has heard anything 3^et from Hannah?’' 

After a moment’s hesitation, i\[yrtle said reluctantly: 

“ Yes, mamma; he got a letter from lier to-night.” 

As Myrtle said this she saw the dark shades of despair 
sweep over her mother’s face, and witli difficulty she asked 
the question: 

“ I)o you know what was in it?” 

“ Yes; papa read it at the supper-table.” 

“ Wliat did slie say ? ’ 

“ She said she would get her affairs settled there and 
would })robably be ready to start in about two weeks.” 

At this intelligence the pale features of Mrs. Stoney 
for an instant assumed a deep fiiish; and tlien a heavy, 
beaded sweat stood out around the mouth and on her 
l)row in bold form. Myrtle took tlie tray and carried it to 
the table, and taking the icy hands within her own con- 
tinued to rub them and to wipe tlie ilarnpness from lier 
face. Neither spoke for some time, when finally tlie 
mother readied up both arms, and tlirowing them around 
the neck of her daughter gently di-ew her down to lier 
own face and whisperetl in her ear: 

“ Dear Myrtle, how are we ever to endure this?” 

“ We know not, mother, how we are to endure many 
things; but as they come to ns we are strengthened and 
in some way do bear them. This is a disagreeable feature; 
one of the ‘necessary evils,’ 1 guess, which is coming to 
us; and it seems to be a blight upon our jirospects; but we 
will do the best we can, and leave the rest.” 

“If I were well I could endure it some way; but I am 
so sick that it seems as if the very breath of Hannah 
Springer would Uint my veins and render recovery inipOvS- 
sible. I never could love her, and now it seems as if I 
could not bear to see her. For father’s sake I have always 
tolerated her as best I could; but, my dear Myrtle, 3^11 do 
not know what I have borne from her.” 

“No, mamma; I suppose I cannot fully realize, but 1 
know enough; and now, if she comes, you are not to even 
see her, unless you like.” 

.“ Oh, Myrtle, you know that will not be treating your 


00 


CONSIDER A TIONS. 


father with respect. She is his sister, and it will make 
him very angry, as well as grieved, if I do not show her 
due respect. You know I am indebted to your father for 
these comforts. I was only a poor girl when he married 
me, and he has done much to set me up in the world, and 
to give me not only comforts but luxuries.” 

Yes, mamma; but you are sick now, and j'our health 
is to be considered in all these things.” 

I know; but father will not see it in that light. I do 
not think men can see such things in their true light. 
He will think me foolish and babyish to allow such indul- 
gence; you know he is very set and determined.” 

Yes; but let us forget these aggravating questions for 
to-night, and trust that there will be some way out of it 
when the time comes.” 

Myrtle, to tell you the truth, I am afraid of your 
father.” 

Well, I used to be; and as yet much prefer to keep on 
the right side of him; but I trust we shall get along some 
way quite peaceably. Now close your eyes and I will en- 
deavor to soothe away these fears and get yon into a drowse.” 

With almost superhuman power does Myrtle succeed in 
banishing from her mother these troubles for the present, 
and after a long time sees the result of her efforts, as her 
patient lays calm and restful before her. She hardly 
dares to breathe aloud lest it should disturb the sleeper. 
Taking up a paper she thought to sit by the bed and guard 
her charge; and as a fond mother guards the cradle of her 
sleeping child does the daughter keep watch over her 
sick mother. 

Soon there was a rap at the chamber door, and by no 
means is it the gentle one which ought to resound in a 
sick-room; she well knew it to be that of her father. She 
quietly stole to the door and opened it; as she did so she 
said in a whisper: 

Come in, papa, if you like, but be very quiet, please; 
let us not disturb mamma, for she has not been so well to- 
day, and I have succeeded in getting her to sleep.” 

He stepped into the room, and going to the grate gave 
the smouldering chunks a few punches, then wheeled to 
his private desk, and turning the key in a very important 
manner, took out something, after which he with even 
more vengeance locked it again, and thrusting the key in 


^'CONSWHJRA TIONS. 


61 


his pocket abruptly left the room, closiug the door 
behind him with little of moderation and quietness. 

Myrtle for t'he first time in years realized the power her 
father had over them all, and she felt sure she could see 
in his eye something which portrayed the bad effects of the 
drinks which she imagines of late to be too frequent for 
the wetfare of all concerned. 

With an overdose of anxiety for her mother, and the 
taxation of body which the day had occasioned, she threw 
lierself upon the rich divan before the grate, and burying her 
face in the soft cushions gave free vent to long pent-up 
sobs of grief. Nothing escaped her lips save the low groans 
of despair and a prayer of — 

“Oh, God, how am I to free myself from these bonds! 
tighter and tighter do they fasten themselves upon me! oh, 
niy poor mother!’’ 

She scarcely knew how long she thus struggled, but at 
lengtji a faint touch on the door aroused her. She straight- 
ened herself up, and stepping to the dresser bathed her 
face in cool water to assuage the aching head and eyes; 
then opened the door. It was Joe, who, on his way to his 
room, just thought it no harm to stop and see if “ Miss” 
'Stoney was any worse. 

^lyi tle stepped into the hall, and closed the door behind 
Iier. 

“Mother has had quite a hard day, but is now asleep; so 
let us talk low so as not to awaken her,” said she. 

“ Yis, indeed; Joe TiuUer’s not the feller that would 
lay a straw in the path of a single person on earth — mucii 
less a poor, sutferin’ sick woman. Say, have you told her 
that Her ^lajesty, Hanner Stoney Springer, is about to make 
her ’pearance at this ere shanty?” 

“ Yes; I told her in reply to her inquiry.” 

“ How did it ’feet ’er? 1 was awful skart, for I felt 
almost sure it ’ad make ’er sick.” 

“ I think it had a bad effect upon her, but I hope we 
can help her to bear it.” 

“ Y"is, to be sure we ken. Is there a blessid thing Joe 
ken do for you before he shets up these sleepy eyes fur 
the night?” 

“ Y"ou may bring me more coal for the grate; but be very 
quiet, Joe, and not disturb her.” 

He went in quietly and replenished the grate with the 


G2 


^‘CONSIDER A TIONS. 


remnants of coal yet in the bucket, then went for the pail 
full. As ho came in with it Mrs. Stoney opened her eyes 
and looked around the room in a sort of wild way, but this 
was soon attributed to the siuklen wakening from so souiid 
a nap. 

“ bh, ‘ Miss ^ Stoney! I be so sorry I waked you up! I 
tried to come in very still. 

“ Is it you, Joe?^^ said she, “ I was having an unpleas- 
ant dream and 1 thought it was — some one else.” 

“ Yes, ma^am; it’s me — Joe.” He went up to the bed, 
and laying his big rough hand upon her head, said: 

‘‘Miss Stoney, we be all so sorry fur you; and will do 
all we kin to revive your spirits. How d’ye do to-night?” 

“ Worse, Joe. I am very nervous, and am getting so 
babyish; as I suppose Hannah will say when she comes.” 

“Never youminda plaguey word that Hanner Springer 
has got to say! She hain’t nobody and we all know it. There! 
now you liave got Joe Tinker’s ’pinion of her, jest as/tis.” 

With a faint smile Mrs. Stoney reached up and took 
hold of both his hands, and pressed them as much as her 
feeble grasp was competent to do, and said: 

“Joe, you have always been a good friend to me. I ap- 
preciate your kindness, and I hope to bear all with a good' 
grace; but, Joe, you know I have considerable to bear at 
times, and it is doubly hard now that I am sick.” 

“ The good Lord above knows that 1 do pity you from 
the bottom of my big toe; and I do hope. Miss Stoney, that 
you’ll have strength enough gi’n you, to jest pity me, ]m(>r^ 
old Joe, a speck or so, once in a while, if that yaller-jacket 
has got to take up iier abode here. If it wa’n’t for the 
sake of tiie rest of you, and that $52 that Tom Stoney’s 
got, that I want for my year’s work, Pd be switched rather’n 
stay under the same roof with her a blessed minute. But 
1 see you’re tired, so I will say ‘ cheer up,’ an’ go to my 
bed; for I ache — every bone in my body — and I have 
he’rd say there be over two hundred on ’em — so you may 
know I’m not a lyin’ ’lound here on posy-beds every 
bless’d minute; but have a sprinkle from the Red Sea once 
in a while. I feel to-night as if there was a trernend’us 
big wave a splashin’ up ag'in me. Good-night. 

He went out quietly, and in spite of her "own sad feel- 
ings Mrs. Stoney looked up with considerable of a smile 
at Myrtle, and said: 


“CONSIDEllA TIONS: 


63 


Poor Joe! He has his troubles as well as we. I arn 
afraid he does not find in us the sympathy that we do in 
him. He is indeed a ‘faithful servant/ and I know he will 
hear the ‘ well done.^^^ 


CHAPTER Vlll. 

Early the next morning Myrtle was standing on the 
broad veranda fronting the street when the postman 
wheeled into the yard and up the walk. He hands her a 
letter addressed to herself, and she at once sees by the post- 
mark that it is a drop-letter. Calmly breaking the seal, 
the manuscript reveals the following: 

“ Boxville, Feb. 10, 1801. 

“My Dear Miss Stoxey: Owing to the sickness of 
your mother this writing has been too long deferred. I 
have intended begging permission to pay you a call, but 
feared such a privilege could not be granted me under the 
circumstaiices, so have withheld my request. 

“ As 1 soon expect to leave Bonville for my Kew York 
home, I venture to ask of you at least the privilege of call- 
ing to say ‘ Good-by.'’ 

“May i have your kind allowance in this regard, and 
call to-morrow? Please set the hour which will be most 
convenient to yourself. 

“Yours with sincere regard, 

“ F RED Hastixgs.’' 

Myrtle as calmly returned the letter to its wrapper, and 
resumed her bath in the morning air and sun. “ Here is 
another unwelcome question for my consideration; but I 
am quite sure I shall not be long in getting it off my 
hands.’'’ Going at once to her room she penned the follow- 
ing reply: 


“ lioxviLLE, Feb. 11, 1891. 

“Mr. Hastixgs: Your note just received, and in 
reply I have only to say that, if it can give you any satis- 
faction to bid me a ‘good-by’ before you leave, that you may 
call to-morrow at 3 p.m., and 1 will try to be civil enough 


64 


‘ ‘ CO NISID EDA TIONS. 


to perform my part. But you must not expect an exten- 
sive expression of my good will at present, for my mother 
has all my attention these days, and I cannot leave her to 
receive callers. 

Yours respectfully, 

M. Stone 

This proves to be a circumstance of but little impor- 
tance to Myrtle, and she scarcely gives it another thought 
until the next day, when 3 P.M., brings into the sick-room 
the card of ‘'Fred Hastings.'’' 

She leaves her mother in care of Pauline, and descends 
to the parlor in her plain worsted wrapper, with nurse- 
apron and cap. As she entered Mr. Hastings rose and 
extended a hand with cordiality in the extreme. Myrtle 
reached him her hand with — 

“ Good-afternoon, Mr. Hastings. It was indeed thought- 
ful in you to remember us. When do you leave town?" 

“ I expect to go to-morrow." 

“ I suppose you have spent a pleasant season at Bonville, 
and no doubt a profitable one; we all think your Uncle 
Filmore a store of good sense and practical knowledge." 

“ Why — yes; it has been a profitable stay as far as Uncle 
Filmore is concerned in the matter. I have had quite a 
pleasant visit, all in all. I had hoped to see more of the 
Stoneys during my stay." 

“ Thank you. We are very closely kept now on account 
of mamma's sickness." 

“Yes, I suppose so; how do you consider her at pres- 
ent? On the gain, I trust?" 

“ No, sir; I am very sorry to say my mother is no 
better." 

“ Indeed! I am so sorry. I had so much hoped to learn 
of her speedy recovery." 

“That has been the hope of us all; but as yet we have 
not seen our earnest prayers answered." 

“ Well, Miss Stoney, I see I arn intruding by extending 
this conversation, but I have one request to make before I 
leave. Will you allow me the privilege?" . 

“ Certainly," bowed Myrtle, with her sweet smile. 

“Will you permit me to give you the preference, and 
ask you to keep me posted in regard to the important 
events of Bonville, by acting as ‘ reporter?'" 


^‘GONSID ERA TIONS. 


65 


Myrtle was so overwhelmed by this unexpected question 
that it took her an instant to gather up and frame the 
reply; but at length she said, smiling: 

“ I am not well versed in ^ short-hand/ 

You do not need to be to be my reporter/’ said he, 
with an attempt at a laugh. 

Then she said in a serious tone: Mr. Hastings, this 
is a matter which I shall certainly give into the hands of 
someone else. Thank you for the honor, but circum- 
stances will not permit.” 

She bowed sligiitly, which he well knew meant Good- 
by,” so he reached her his hand, which she cheerfully ac- 
cepted, and he was ready to say his “good-by.” 

“ Good-by, Mr. Hastings; best wishes for your pros- 
perity.” 

“ Good-by, Miss Stoney.” He passed down the walk 
and away, and Myrtle went to her post of duty. 

Mrs. Stoney remained in the condition in which we last 
saw her, with no apparent change for the better, until the 
close of the two weeks; and on the very day set by Han- 
nah Springer for her aridval at the place does she come, 
with trunk, and we suppose all of her few earthly posses- 
sions. 

The carriage lands her at the door of Stoney Mansion, 
and with a modest air of hesitancy does she tarry a few 
seconds at the great hall-door before giving the emphatic 
ring. Pauline is faithful to her duty, and being a stranger 
to Mrs. Springer said: 

“And by what name may I call you? Will you walk 
in?” 

“ Yes; to be sure I will walk into my own dear brother’s 
housel 1 am MVs. Springer, his only sister, from the West. 
Of course you have often heard him speak of me.” 

“ Yes,” said Pauline, leading the way into the parlor. 
“ Be seated and I will announce yon.” 

“ N’o; not just for a minute or two, please. Just let me 
take a free breath in this beautiful home, and look about 
me an instant,” said Hannah, removing her crape veil, and 
glancing about her. “ 1 wish you would first announce my 
coming to my brother. I long to see him.” 

“ Very well,” said Pauline, leaving her, and going to 
the office and ringing for Mr. Stoney, who immediately 
answered the summons. 


66 


CONSIDER A rroNS. 


Mr. Stotiey, there is a lady in the parlor who intro- 
duces herself as your sister.^" 

“ Yes, it is Hannah, no doubt. I was looking for her.^' 
Mr. Stoiiey went to tiie parlor, where lie found his sister 
ill moiiruiiig and soft cushions. M^hy, Hannah! you are 
iiere, aie you?” 

Both extended a hand, and the grasp emphatically 
expressed their pleasure at meeting, after an elapse of 
years. 

“Yes, Thomas, I am here, under very sad circum- 
stances to be sure.” As she spoke she managed to force a 
painfully dainty tear into one eye. “ Well, Thomas, you 
look considerable older than when I last saw you. I am 
very sympathetic with you on account of your present 
trouble. It is so hard for one in your position to have 
such anxieties; it hurts the business much. Florence 
never was as strong as I wish she were. Poor health is 
indeed a great calamity to any one. By the way, how is 
she? I sincerely hope she is on the gain, although the 
hackrnan informed me that she is still down.” 

“ Yes; she does not leave her room yet. Well, Hannah, 
just lay off your things and make yourself at home. You 
see we have a comfortable little cottage here.” 

“Indeed you have. I was just about to speak in re- 
gard to your beautiful home, and compliment you upoji 
the taste disphiyed. But I shall know more about it 
after 1 thoroughiy make its acquaintance. I hope Florence 
will prove herself worthy of the stand upon which you 
have placed her, and in a measure merit her blessings. 
Oh, Thomas! you cannot realize the loneliness of my con- 
dition,” Said she, rising and removing her black outer 
wraps and mechanically placing them on the back of the 
nearest chair. 

“Just bring your things to the cloak-room, Hannah,” 
said Mr. Stoney, leading the way. 

“ I will put them there for the present; but as soon as 
possible I would like to be shown to rny room, for I am in 
my old traveling-dress, and would like to change before I 
meet Florence and the childi’en.” 

“Very well; I will call Pauline.” 

As Pauline came into the parlor she found Mrs. Springer 
glancing furtively about her, as if eager to see as much as 
possible while opportunity afforded. 


'^CONSIDEliA 'iloyi>r 


6 ? 

Mrs. Spriuger, come this way, if yon wish to go to 
your room.” 

She followed Pauline up the great staircase, through the 
wide upper hall. At the extreme end and right, Panline 
opeued a door and nsliered Hannah into the corner room 
facing the front. “ I'liis is your room, I believe.” 

*• Oh, thank yon! this is a nice room. 1 shall feel per- 
fectly at home in it; and am sure I shall find here a ])lace 
in wliich I can rest. Wiiat time do yon usually have 
tli liner?” 

*• Dinner will be ready in one hour.” 

*• Very well. I shall be ready by that time, I guess.” 

Pauline left her. Hannah at once began disrobing and 
exchanging her traveling-dress for the fine mourning 
wliich has served on every important occasion since tiie 
day her Edward was laid to rest. After completing the 
toilet she sat calmly down in tlie easy-chair for a few min- 
utes; but her inquisitive nature proved too much for her, 
and in a short time she got up and began investigations. 

Commencing at the bed she threw back the covers, to 
make sure that there were plenty of these. She can have 
no reason to complain on this account; but as she found 
that the bed consisted of a hair-mattress, instead of the 
•'oveted feather-bed, she began to sigh and wonder in her 
mind and heart, soul and body, “ liow these poor tired 
shoulders will ever become reconciled to the fad.” 

I do wonder what Florence has done with the two nice 
large feather-beds that used to be mother’s! Tliey were 
ill the house when I lived in the family befoiv.” d'o give 
the mattress a fair test, she lay down for awhile; but in no- 
wise felt satisfied, and determined to look into the feather- 
bed question and get one on her bed if there is one in the 
house. 

After a thorough investigation of things in general, and 
a careful taking possession of the wardrobe, she made her 
way back to the parlor, stoppir.gnow and then to listen at 
the keyholes of various doors which she passed. After 
another long glance at the parlor, and an extended 
“ peek ” into the library, she is warned by the gong that 
the hour is at last up; and to an empty stomach the 
sound, even of a gong, is not so distressing as some things. 
However, gongs to full stomachs have no particular 
charm. 


6S 


^^GONSIDERATJONS. 


Mr. Stoney by this time had reached tlie parlor, and 
was about to offer Hannah liis arm to conduct her to the 
table, when Myrtle stepped into the room. 

^‘Hannah, this is Myrtle; I suppose you would hardly 
recognize her,^^ said Mr. Stoney politely. 

Why, Myrtle, how do you do? 1 am so glad to see 
you. No; I should not have known her. She looks like 
her mother used to, I think,'*’ said Myrtle’s aunt, rushing 
at her and throwing both arms around her neck, implant- 
ing an imposing kiss upon her cheek. 

Myrtle, by the time she had freed herself from this un- 
becoming grasp, sought strength to reply: 

“ You look as you used to. Aunt Hannah, only of course 
much older.” 

“Yes, so your father says. I have grown old very fast 
since your Uncle Edward died. Oh, Myrtle, you have no 
idea how sad it was! I am so glad. Myrtle, to see you in 
so luxurious a home, and with so much to make life en- 
joyable to you. I hope you are never for a minute free 
from gratitude to your indulgent father, and are ever 
ready to express it. It makes it hard for him to have your 
mother sick. I cannot help realizing that it is wearing 
upon him. How is she to-day? I shall be so glad to see 
her and do for her.” 

“She is very weak to-day, and 1 think not so well as 
common. But come; let us go to dinner.” 

Saying this, Myrtle led the way to the dining room, and 
her father and Hajinah followed. As they seated them- 
selves at table J\Irs. Spi'inger said: 

Oh, d’hornas, you do not know how I shall enjoy this 
continual feast of good and nice things. We have had 
rather a hard time since we went to Colorado, and I am 
all tiretl out and starving for a rest as well as victuals. 
]\lvrtle, 1 am delighted with my room. It is very pleasant 
indeed. The chair is easy, too; I have given it a good 
test. The view from the window is so pleasant!” 

“I am glad >ou are suited with it,” said Myrtle, who 
rather hastened through the meal, and then begged to be 
excused, as her duties to her mother demanded it. 

After tinishing his meal Mr. Stotiey sent to the store for 
Stephen. He came in, and after’ an introduction to 
“ Aunt Hannah,” seated liimself at table, and the father 
went to the store. 


^^GONSIDEBA TIONS. 


69 


■ Well, Aunt Hannah, how do you like the looks of things 
here? In pretty good shape, are we not? or would be if 
mother were well.” 

Yes, Stephen, I have taken a small survey, and must 
say I am delighted to find you so comfortably situated. I 
think Thomas is well worthy of all the encouragement we 
can give him. Poor man! It makes it very hard for him 
to have your mother in such a condition. He has my ten- 
derest sympathies.” 

Of course,” said Stephen, sickness is a hard thing 
for any one to have, but if it comes we must make the best 
of it, I guess. It is no worse for us than for other people.” 

Oh, I think it is! The business you are in demands 
all the respect you can possibly pay to people; and when 
sickness gets into a house it seems as if there is no civility 
to any one. Then your father is such a jolly fellow, and 
so enjoys society.” 

*‘Of course,” said he. in reply, we are all sorry she is 
sick, a?id hope, for her sake especially, for a speedy re- 
covery.” 

‘‘Oh, pshaw! I think the sick are not so much to be 
pitied as those who have to take care of them and contend 
with them. People are apt to get such foolisli notions 
into their heads when they are sick, especially if they are 
nervous.” 

“Well, I pity any one who is laid up, or would if I 
could get the time; but I am so closely kept in the block 
out there that I almost forget at times that I have a 
mother. Have you seen her?” 

“ JN^o; I was tired and dirty when I arrived, so have 
given myself all my attention as yet. I will see her as 
soon as opportunity allows it. I am going to sit here and 
keep you company, Stephen, until you have done with 
your dinner. I have got to study you for awhile to make 
lip my mind that it really is Stephen Stoney. Years have 
made a great change in yon.” 

“ I suppose so. 1 do not see as you have changed much.” 

“ I have grown old very fast since your dear nucleus 
death. It was a severe shock to me, and I do not know as 
I shall ever fully restore myself.” 

“It was quite sudden, I suppose.” 

“Oh, yes; and I am so entirely alone in the world. It 
seems almost unbearable.” 


70 


^^GONSTDEUA TIONS. 


'MVell, Aunt Hannah/^ said Stephen, rising, I must 
leave you to entertain yourself, I guess, and go to the 
store.” 

That is all right; but I am going to ask you if you can 
S])end the time to get my trunk to my room. I wish to 
take out my dresses, or they will be in a solid wrinkle."’ 

Yes; I will get Joe to help me.” 

‘‘Joe! is he still iiere? I supposed he was dead years 
ago. He must look old.” 

“ No, lie is not dead, but here at his post as faithful as 
ever.” Stephen went to the rear of the house and found 
Joe keeping Chesterfield company. “Joe, will you come 
this way and help me carry Aunt Ilannah"s trunk up- 
stairs?” 

“Hannah’s trunk I for mercy’s sake! has that Ilanner 
Stoney got here, and a trunk ’tached to ’er? Oh, my poor 
lame back! How is it ever goin’ to straighten up enough 
to tug one end of that woman’s trunk?” 

But Joe is as faithful as ever in even this unpleas- 
ant emergency, and in due tiiho he hobbles — more 
than usual — into the front hall, where stood Mrs. Springer 
with one hand on her trunk, which stood upon one end. 

“ Why, Joe, is this you?” said she. “ You do not look 
but a year or two older than you did fifteen years ago,” 
reaching out a cordial right hand of fellowship! 

“ Oh, git out!” said he, brushingaway her hand; “I ain’t 
a shakiir hands on this ’casion. Is this Hanner Stoney 
and her truiiK? And has this plagy thing got to he tugged 
up that long stair? Looks as if you had come expectin’ to 
make a square visit,” 

Finally, relenting somewhat, he stepped up, and look- 
ing her square in the face, said: “For pity’s sake, Han- 
ner, you look older than the hills! — but, Stephen, take 
a hold on this animal, and we will send it to its destiny in 
one holy minute.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

On the evening of the day in question, just before sup- 
per was announced. Myrtle met Hannah in the parlor. 
“ Well, Aunt Hannah, I guess you have been left to enter- 


‘CONSIDERATIONS: 


n 


tain yourself pretty tmicli, have you not? I am so much 
taken up with tnaninui that I forget other people. She 
has liad a hard afternoon.’' 

“ Oh, I have not ininded it. I liave been busy unpack- 
ing my trunk, and getting the wrinkles out of my clothes. 
I appreciate my room more and more, and feel as if I 
could enjoy an eternity there. When can I best be allowed 
to see your mother? I am sort of anxious to see her.” 

“Well, since I must plainly state to you facts as they 
are, I ask yon to listen to thefn as gracefully as you can. 
My mother is very weak, and the appearance of people in 
her room would only tend to excite her and make her 
worse; besides, the doctor has strictly forbidden that any 
one be admitted except her own family and those who take 
care of her. I am sorry circumstances demand it, but for 
a few days, at least, we must close mother's door to you, 
as well as to others.” 

“Iliad no idea Florence had reached this deplorable 
condition. Perhaps I could do much to assist in taking 
care of her if I could be admitted. However, we will tako 
no offense in the matter, and hope she will soon take a 
turn for the better. But as truly as I live 1 believe it to 
be the worst thing yon can do for her to shut people out. 
I would not shut. people from my room if I were dying.” 

“ Well, there would probably be no necessity of it if 
one were dying; but when there is a chance for recovery 
we must make the most of it. Such are the doctor's or- 
ders, and I know by her symptoms that it is for her good. 
Come, let us go to supper.” After they were established 
at table Mr. Stoney asked of Myrtle: 

“ How is your mother this evening? I must go in after 
supper.” 

“ She is not so well to-night. It has been a dreadful day 
for her.” 

“ Thomas,” said Hannah, “ I have been telling Myrtle 
that I believe it to be the worst thing tliat can happen to 
Florence to keep her so close. I believe it would be far 
better for her to see people.” 

“ The doctor has said it to bo the best for her that she 
does not see many,” said he, in reply, “ and so we feel that 
he knows best. What do you think in regard to her case? 
How does she appear to you? Very sick?” 

‘‘To me! I have not seen iier,” 


72 


‘ ‘ CONSID ERA TlOyS. ” 


You haveu’t! Wliy liave yon not been 
Myrtle thinks she is so tired to-day that it will be bet- 
ter for me t^j wait awhile before going in/^ 

At these words Mr. Stoney hurled at Myrtle a look, and 
by the expreSvsion on his face she well knew of his dis- 
pleasure at the affair. She trembled a bit as it first struck 
her, then bracing up, she returned the compliment by a 
pleasant smile, which signified: “Speak, if your wish.'’^ 

“I think. Myrtle, that this is cari-ying matters to an ex- 
treme. By no means is it my will that our own friends 
and relatives be exf)elled from the sick-room.^' 

“ Well, father, mamma is so very much worse to-day, 
and I have consulted her in regard to it, and I wiM give 
you her own words: ‘ Oh, Myrtle; it will kill me to see any- 
one to-day!’ So I think best to wait aw’hile before taking 
Aunt Hannah in — till she gets better.’^ 

At this Hannah touched the hand of her brother, and 
with a sneering smile whispered so low that she thought 
no one heard; but Myrtle did hear: “Some people are 
easily killed, you know'.” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Stoney, in a grumble. “ It is very easy 
to get babyish and peevish, 1 notice — if it is allow- 
able/^ 

Mr. Stoney ate the remainder of his meal in comparalive 
silence; and when all were through he took half-a-dozen 
toothpicks from the sideboard, and picking his teeth with 
an air of unusual importance, started in the direction of 
the sick-chamber. Myrtle noted his course, and so w^ent 
with Hannah to the parlor; but in her mind, and from the 
depths of her heart w’ent up a prayer for her poor, sick 
mother at this crisis. 

“ Florence, Myrtle tells me you are not so well to-dav,^’ 
said Mr. Stoney, going briskly up to the bed. “ What has 
made you worse?” 

“ Oh, Thomas, I do not know'. I am so W'eak and nerv- 
ous that I can hardly live.” 

“ Well, Florence, I am sorry this is the case; but truly 
1 believe the more you give up to these feelings the more 
you may. J sent for Hannah to come so as to help Myrtle 
take care of you; and now she is here 1 believe she feels 
hurt because you do not want to see her. Y^ou know' Han- 
nah has done much for us in her life, and I think you are 
under certain obligations to treat her like a sister. It 


^^CON^TDFnATlOKS:* 73 

seems to me that I would try niid render to her due 
respect/'’ 

As these words fell like angry darts upon the poor vic- 
tim, she began to tremble from head to foot, and great 
drops stood out on Iier pale temples. The grief found 
vent in a spasm of sobs, broken by the stammering voice, as 
she said: 

I am so soriy 1 feel so! Oh, I wish I might bear up bet- 
ter under things; but I am so sick.^' 

Come, come now,! Don’t be a baby in my arms. It 
is your duty as my wife and the mother of my children to 
bear this in a more womanly manner. But I will leave 
you for to-day. I liope yon will be more reconciled by to- 
morrow and ask Hannah in to see you. She would only be 
happy to do for you.” 

Saying this he hastened from the room, and went by the 
nearest cut to the store. Myrtle, not knowing when he 
went, did not return to the room, but remained in the 
parlor, endeavoring to make herself, in a measure, agree- 
able to her aunt % showing her books, pictures and so 
forth. 

In about one-half hour Joe stuck his head in at the 
door, and in an exciting way, as the circumstance would 
naturally demand, said: 

Myrtle, you better go immediately to your mother’s 
room — at once — this very minute! 1 had an eri-ant U[) to 
my room, and as 1 passed by your mother’s, I heard a most 
tenable distressin’ kind of a noise, so I opened the door, 
and there f found lier, a-rollin’ and tumblin’ in pain and 
cryin’ jest fearful! I said, ‘Why, Miss Stoney, what in 
this blessed world is the matter on you?’ but all she said 
was: ‘ Oh, how am I to bear this!’ I left ’er and you 
must go right straight up there.” 

By this time Myrtle was nearly up to the t'»p of the 
stairs, and Joe gave his last expostulations fi'om the foot. 
Hannah, likewise, was in the parlor door, not far from 
where Joe stood, and slie calmly said to him: 

“ Oh, don’t get excited, Joe. There is nothing the 
matter of Florence only a fidgetty streak. She has always 
been most too much given to the hypo, to make it real 
agreeable to those around her.” 

“Now, Hanner Stoney ” 

“My name is Springer, if you please!’^ 


^^CONSWERA TIOES:* 


!*• < 
< 4 : 


‘‘ Well, Mrs. Hanner Stoney Springer then, if that 
suits you — 1 expect you will not love me any the more’n 
common, nor I you, for me sayin’ what I am about to say. 
But Fm not the man to staiF here all cahn and gentle, 
and let you smite Miss Stoney on both cheeks! I know if 
she was here, she’d turn t’other also, but if you please, or 
if you don’t, you may jest spare yourself the trouble of 
fu’ther blasphemies ag’in this sacred ’fair. There are 
some things agin’ which it is mighty dangerous to be a 
blasphemin’ and one on ’em is Miss Stoney. If you have 
any 'blasphemin’, wdiich you feel it y’ur duty to do, jest 
make a dive at Joe. It won’t be a very saci’ed mark, an’ 
consequently the s’ord won’t be so liable to turn ’round and 
tackle y’ur owm heart — if you’ve got any. I s’pose we 
never ’ll be any too genial to’ard each and one ’nother, 
Haulier — I and you I mean — but as fur as I’m concerned, 
there ain’t much love lost; and it don’t keep me from 
sleepin’ nights.” 

Why, Joe! I always tried to use you well, and it seems 
rather strange in you to break out in this style at me.” 

It don’t make no ditf’rence to me how it seems, or liow 
it don’t seem, or whether there is any seem in it. I’ve 
said jest as I think,” and he w'alked away to the kitchen, 
determined to keep his services in readiness for any emer- 
gency from the sick-room. He found Phebe busy about 
the evening’s chores. ‘‘Oh, Phebe, what on earth be we 
goin’ to do! '.rhis house will be nothin’ but a bumble- 
bee’s nest, as long as that buzzard is inside on’t. I know 
one thing! I’ve jest had the pleasure on tellin’ ’er jest 
about my state of mind to’ard her.” 

“ What in dis blessed wo’ld has come ’crost you, Joe? 
What is it dat has happent to you now?” 

“ Oh, nothin’ has happened to me. Miss Stoney is much 
worse, and it’s nothin’ under the sun and moon ails ’er, 
only ’cause she knows Hafiner is here, and she don’t feel 
like seein’ on ’er and it works ’er up. And I believe my 
soul, that Tom Stoney’s been a-scoldin’ on ’er on account 
of this; but do not know' pos’tive.” 

“You mils’ be kind ob careful how you express y’ur 
’pinion to or ’bout Miss Hanna’, or you’ll liave massah 
Stoney all ag’inst you’; and like’s not 3'ou’il git vour 
walkin’ papah.” 

“ It don’t make no dilT’rence! I han’t goin’ to stan’ still 


‘^CONSIDERA TTONSr 


75 


and hear Miss Stoney ’bused by Hanner Springer, nor no 
one else, ’’saying which, Joe went to the barn to put 
things in readiness for the night. 

As Myrtle entered the sick-room she was only too well 
convinced in I’cgard to the scene which had takeJi place 
there. She found her mother with her face deeply buried 
in her pillow, and a continuous strain of sobs and groans 
escaped her. 

Oh, mamma! lam so sorry for you ; but turnover, and 
w^ will try to bind up this wound.” She asked her no 
questions. She had no need of that, for she already knew 
the cause of her trouble. Mrs. Stoney turned upon her 
pillow as she recognized her daughter’s voice, and with a 
flood of tears embraced her, saying: 

“No, Myrtle, this wound is too deep and wide to 
become healed, even by your soothing balm; but perhaps 
you can in a measure alleviate it. Your father thinks me 
a baby, and is very angry because Hannah has not been 
admitted to my room. I must see her to-morrow some- 
how.” 

“ Well, let us try and not think of the morrow. I must 
do all I can to get you settled for the night, so you can 
sleep, and you must help me.” 

Myrtle bathed her face and head, and brought her a 
dainty lunch, but Mrs. Stoney could only taste it. “ I can- 
not eat to-night,” said she; “ everything I try to cat has a 
bitter taste.” 

After a long and desperate etfoi’t, j\[yrtle got hei' mother 
into a sleep, which was broken and full of starts; but later 
on her sleep became deeper and seemingly too sound to be 
wholly natural. As Myrtle noted the breathing she could 
not help hearing the iioarse and ominous rattle in the 
throat, which became frightful to her. After a time of 
watching she slipped to Joe’s room, and told him to go 
at onco for Dr. Jennings; and — “tell him to come in 
very quietly, for mamma is asleep and 1 do not want her 
wakened.” 

In a very few minutes the doctor stepped in cautiously, 
followed by Joe. Myrtle beckoned to him to be quiet, 
while she, by means of gestures rnade him see the cause of 
her alarm. 

The doctor stooped carefully over the sleeper, and for a 
long time watched the heavy breathing. Finally, he looked 


76 


‘ ‘ GOmiD ERA TI0N8. ’ ’ 


at Joe (but Mj^rtle was not blind to the act), and shook 
his head, as much as to say: ‘‘ I don’t like that.” He 
then drew a chair up to the bed, and for one hour did 
nothing but watch his patient. Tlien taking a slip of paper 
from his pocket wrote uj^on it: 

I will call to-morrow about noon. You watch lier 
carefully, and if there be any change for the worse, let 
me know.” Handing it to Myrtle, he took his hat and 
went home. 

Joe, instead of going to his room, settled into tlie eai.y- 
chair before the grate, and dozed in his seat. Myrtle took 
her place by the bed. Mrs. Stoney rested quite w^ell the 
fore-part of the night, but the latter, after Myrtle had 
gone to her room and left her in care of Pauline, she was 
uneasy, and continually dreaded the moirow. 

As soon as Mr. 8toney was dressed, he went into the 
room. Finding Mrs. Stoney alone with Pauline, he said: 

^MVell, ‘ Flos,’ what kind of a night did you put in.” 

Oh, it was a hard one, Thomas. 1 am clear down 
this morning. It seems as if I could hardly survive this 
day.” 

‘^Florence, I am sorry for you, but you must brace up, 
for the sake of the rest of us. I notice that Myrtle is 
looking very much worn by her long care, and now 1 
think the best thing you can do is to have Hannah spell 
her. Hannah is anxious to do for you, and feels very bad 
on account of your indifference to her. At what time this 
forenoon will you be ready to have her come in?” 

“Oh, as— soon as — I have my breakfast— and get fixed 
up — and — can bear it.” 

“Very Avell; you have Myrtle bring lier in when all’s 
ready. I shall be very busy to-day.” Mr. Stoney went 
out, and after breakfast Myrtle came in. Pauline, on ac- 
count of the economy of the firm, has the care of the 
chambers, as well as maid of many other quarters. After 
leaving the sick-room, she went at once to the other 
chambers. Knockiug at Mrs. Springer's door, which stood 
a little ajar, she was made to know that her presence was 
quite welcome indeed, at this houi-. 

Going to the bed she began arrangements. Hannah 
was “resting” in the chair, and thus from her throne ad- 
dresses Pauline: 

“ Do al] the beds have springs and mattresses on tliem, 
and nothing else?” 


^COKSIDERA TIONS.“ 




‘'Yes, ma^am. They all have springs and mattresses, 
blit bedding besides.” 

Are there no feather beds in tlie house?” 

" I do not know. I have seen none.” 

" I know Florence used to have two good ones, for when 
mother died she gave them to Thomas. They were used 
in the family when 1 lived here before. Mattresses do 
not agree with my rheumatic joints; 1 ache all over every 
night.” 

" I have nothing to do in such matters. You must 
apply to headquarters about such things,” said Pauline. 

Nothing more was s iid in regard to the bed, but it was 
neatly made, the room swept and dusted, the coal-scuttle 
replenished, and Pauline left Hannah alone in her glory, 
to her toilet and meditations. After an unusually long 
indulgence of the latter, she put on her mourning weeds, 
and added to the common display we see the crape 
ruches and cap, which make her, if possible, more cloudy 
than ever. After a careful survey in the mirror, using to 
wipe the imaginary tear from her eye the deep, black- 
bordered handkerchief, she notes the effect. With a smil- 
ing approval of her own looks she descends to the parlor 
to await developments. 

It has reached the hour of ten, and as yet no one has 
put in an appearance. After a short — long to her — 
time. Myrtle, having an errand through the parlor, found 
her “resting” within its most comfortable chair. 

“Good-morning, Aunt Hannah; I have been so busy 
this morning that I have hardly thought of 3 mu. I am 
glad that you can find entertainment for yourself.” 

“ r am quite good at that. How is your mother this 
morning?” 

“ She had a hard night and is very tired to-day. 

“Your father said he had arranged matters with her, 
and that she said she would like to see me, when she is 
made ready for the day. Will you come and let me know 
when I am to go in?” 

“Yes; but it will be quite a while yet. I am giving 
her special attention this morning.” 

Going to the room she said to her mother: “ Mamma, 
Hannah is all dressed and waiting in the parlor a sum- 
mons to this room. I see no other way only to let her 
come in and have it over with. AVlien do you want her?” 


78 


•^GONSIDERA TIONS. ” 


If I should answer your question according to' my 
feelings, I should say ^ never,' but I know I must see her, 
so the sooner it is over the better." 

Myrtle made a few renovations of the room, etc., and 

then called Pauline into the room, *'Aunt Hannah is 

coming in to see mamma this morning, Pauline, and I 

want voii to be here at the time." 

%/ 

Pauline took a seat upon the foot of the bed, and 
Myrtle went to the parlor. Mrs. Stoney did all she pos- 
sibly could to keep up, and to meet the emergency with 
grace; but her poor, weak frame shook, and her lips 
quivered wlien she detected even the step on the stair, as 
she said to Pauline: “ There she comes!" Pauline took 
her hands, and in a measure spread a calm over her. As 
Myrtle led the way into the room followed by the “ woman 
in black," the latter, when firmly within the room, sprang 
forward, -and throwing her long dolefully draped arms 
over the sick woman, said: 

‘‘ Oh, Florence! I am so glad to see you once more; but 
very sorry, of course, to find yon in this shape." Implant- 
ing the deceitful kiss upon the white temple, she further 
ejaculated: ‘‘It is sad for us all to have you so sick, es- 
pecially poor Thomas! I do feel so for him, my only 
brother; and Myrtle, too, looks very worn under her 
responsibilities." 

“ Yes, it is hard for us all," said Mrs. Stoney, heaving 
at the breast, and endeavoring in her weak way, to free 
herself from the unbecoming clutches of her enemy. A 
close observer would have seen a moisture gather over her 
eyes. It is evident that Hannah noticed it, for slie began 
to pat her on the shoulder and to exliort: 

“There, there, now; you must not be babyisli; let me 
see none of this; you must keep up good cheei\ Why, you 
haven't even told me yet that you ware glad to see me — 
after I have come all the way from Colorado to see you 
and to help take care of you. You know, Florence, I have 
just passed through a severe trial myself" (taking out the 
black bordered 'kerchief and assuming to use it) “and have 
not much strength to spare in listening to other people's 
troubles. Tliey all tell me I need cheerful company. " 

“I am sad to know of your desolate circumstancc'^ . 
Hannah; but if you have expected to find good cheer I 
nm afraid you have come to the wrong place." 


*'G0NS1DERA TtONS." 


79 


Here Myrtle felt obliged to interfere, and going to the 
bed motioned Hannah into a chair by the bed. Aunt 
Hannah, please sit down,' and do not talk much to 
mamma — she is too weak to hear much talking; much less 
to talk herself."” Hannah sat down, and Myrtle went to 
the kitchen to make her mother a cup of tea, for she saw 
she was much in need of something to strengthen her for 
the time being. 

After Myrtle left the room Hannah said: I suppose 
it will do you no harm for me to make mention of your 
beautiful surroundings. Oh, Florence; you have such 
comforts, yes.luxuriesi It does not seem as if one, in your 
circumstances, ought ever to get ^blue.^ Thomas is so in- 
dulgent to buy so much. Considej'able of a promotion, 
isn’t it, from the position which you occupied some twenty- 
iive years ago? It isn’t every poor girl that reaches this 
height; and with comparatively no exertion of her own. 
I like my room real well.” 

I am glad of it. We do not lack for comforts.” 

Instead of putting it that way, why don’t you say: 
we have every luxury!’ Oh, some people are so unappre- 
ciative.” 

At this point Myrtle opens the door: 

Here, mamma, is some tea. You are too tired to visit 
to-day. Drink this.” 

As Myrtle raised her mother up to give her the tea, she 
noticed that she was cold, and a tremor seemed to seize 
upon her whole frame. After the tea was drank, a slight, 
hacking cough was manifest; and it even terminated in 
a severe attack. 

In this spasmodic siege of coughing Hannah rose and 
said : 

I guess I will not stay any longer this time. I will be 
in, in the morning again, Florence, and will do all I can 
for you. Now listen to me, and not cry — that don’t do 
any good.” 

After her exit, Mrs. Stoney lay 'back upon her pillow, 
com[)letely exhausted. Pauline said: “ I do not think 
such visits do you any good. I wish it were otherwise.” 

Myrtle sat by her mother until dinner. Soon after 
she returned from the table the doctor made his promised 
visit. 

Good-afternoon, Mrs. Stoitey, if it can be called after- 
noon. I hope I find you much better.” 


80 


^‘CONSIDER A TIONS. 


Mrs. Stoney looked up at him, but found herself linabie 
to utter scarcely a word. Her eyes filled with tears and 
all that she said distinctly was — Oh, Doctor Jennings! 
I am so sorry I am sick; it is so hard for the rest of the 
family.” 

Oh, fiddlesticks! don^t think about them. They 
are all as hearty as pigs. I will risk them. Just make them 
all the trouble you can. This is a privilege which we al- 
ways give to sick folks.” 

‘‘ I do not feel able to see people, and visit, doctor.” 

I know it, and didn't I say you need not see them? 
Who has been in to see you?” 

^^No one, only Mr. Stoney’s sister from Colorado. She 
has come to stay awhile and wants to help take care of 
me.” 

And don’t you want her to? A nice woman of 
course?” said the doctor inquiringly. 

Why, yes; nice enough, I guess; but I just don’t want 
to see any one but Myrtle, and our own folks. The hired 
help are all so kind to me!” 

To be frank, doctor,” said Myrtle, ‘^and tell you the 
truth, father’s sister is not congenial to mamma; and I 
know her visits only make her worse. What can we 
do?” 

^'Well, I guess we can handle all the sisters-in-law that 
come here! and if you do not wknt her to help take care 
of you, yon just need not have her, that’s all.” 

“I know; but they call me whimsical and babyish, if I 
say anything against it.” 

•^Well, Mrs. Stoney, we do not care a picayune what 
they say. There ain’t one atom of truth in it, so let’s lot 
it out at the right ear as fast as it comes in at the left. I 
don’t think you are babyish. I think you are a good— mo 
good — wife for Thomas Stoney, and told my wife so no 
longer ago than this morning. Don’t pay a bit of atten- 
tion to his sister. If you can’t like ’er, you can’t. There 
are some folks I can’t like, and 1 know if they should 
come into a sick-room of mine ’t would finish me up then 
and there. We’ll fix this.” 

“I know, but — Thomas don’t — like it.” 

Well, let him lump it. I am not afraid of Stoney, 
and can whip him any day.” 

Mrs. Stoney forced a smile at the doctor’s desperate 


^‘COKSimniA TlONfir 


81 


efforijs to clear the way for her, and for an instant felt en- 
con raged by his cheer. 

Dr. Jennings noted the slight cough, and after sound- 
ing her lungs carefully bid her ••good-day and took his 
leave. 

Soon Mr. Stoney came in to get the doctor’s report. 
Going up to his wife he said: 

‘‘ Why, Flos, I guess it has done you good to see Han- 
nah. You look as sweet as a sixteen. Your cheeks are 
flushed, and I know you are ever so much better.” 

No, Thomas: I am only excited. I have put in a ter- 
rible day.” 

‘‘ Well, you know you must make it as easy for Myrtle 
as you can, so let Hannah do all she can. She will be 
glad to sit by yon, or do anything for you that she can.” 

To these words she made no response. Her eyes filled 
to overflowing and he said: Now, don’t for pity’s sake go 
to crying. Be thankful for what you have.” Here he 
went out and to the store, to his cigar and afternoon’s 
doze. 


CHAPTER X. 

At the supper-table this evening Hannah ventures to in- 
troduce the feather-bed topic, though in an indirect way. 
To Mr. Stoney’s question: ‘‘Well, Hannah, how do you 
find yourself this evening?” she made answer: 

“ i guess I am as well as common, with the exception of 
these rheumatic shoulders; I am obliged to be quite ten- 
der of them. Truly, Thomas, I do find your spring-and- 
mattress bed — pardon me for finding a speck of fault with 
anything in the house — a terror to rheumatism. What 
has become of those two nice featlier beds mother left to 
you? I just wished last night that I couM have had one 
on my bed. I never would have mentioned this, but you 
have no idea how my slioulders ache upon the mattress.” 
Myrtle was not at table, so of course did !iot hear this, 
“I am glad you feel free to speak in regard to such 
things. Just make yourself at home; I will see abf)ut the 
bed. I do not know where tiiey are, but will talk with 
Florence, and you shall have one.” 


82 


''CONSIDER A TIDES. 


^‘This is so kind in you, Thomas, More and more do I 
appreciate your brotherly attentions,. Oh, dear! how 
tough this steak is. My teeth are so tender 1 cannot chew 
it. Do you ever buy the Hamburg steak? Oh, that is de- 
licious; we used to buy it altogether/’ 

Yes, sometimes. I will have them order that the next 
time.^^ 

Hannah, realizing lier triumph, for a few minutes buried 
her rheumatism down deep in the depths of imaginary 
geese-feathers of her mother’s own picking; and with 
bright hopes of the Hamburg steak which is to come, man- 
ages to complete the meal with unwonted cheerfulness, 
which is the best antidote for imiigestion; so we will trust 
that the steak, though tough, may digest reasonably well. 
After Mr. Stoney finished his sup[)er ho went directly to 
his wife’s room, and said to Myrtle: 

Myrtle, I will sit by mother awhile and you may go 
out to stipper. You look tired. How are you, Florence 
— at this minute?” 

I wish for your sake I could say * much better;’ but 
as yet I see no change in that direction. This has been 
the hardest day I ever put in.” 

I am sorry to hear it, but keep up as best you can. 
Say, Florence, where are the feather beds we used to have 
around — those of mother’s? Hannah has the rheumatism 
in her shoulders terribly, and says she wants one on her 
bed. She is not used to springs and mattresses.” 

Mrs. Stoney, with almost a convulsion of fear, yet not 
knowing of any other way, only to tell the truth, said in 
broken and inarticulate words: ‘‘ Why, Thomas, we have 

no feather beds, you know ” 

No feather beds! AVhaton earth has become of them? 
we used to have some.” 

‘‘ I — was — going — to tell — you. You know ” 

I don’t know anything about it! What has become of 
them?” 

When we — moved in this — house — you — bought and 
set — up four new beds- you know. I — had the — two old 
feather beds— well renovated— and made into pillows— to 
supply — the beds — and this— saved — buying — new ones.” 

‘‘ I should think that a queer kind of economy! Are 
you crazy, or what ails yon to do such a foolish thing? I’d 
rather have bought feathers for pillows than to have the 


'^CONSIDERA TIONS. 


83 


beds destroyed. I guess Hannah will think that a strange 
piece of work. What shall we do in the case?^^ 

I do not know, Thomas/" said Mrs. Stoney, beginning 
to cry. “ I am so sorry I did wrong."" 

Now for Lord"s sake don"t begin to squall. Hannah 
came here out of kindness, and it seems a pity we cannot 
even let her have one of her own mother’s feather beds to 
sleep on. Oh, it seems sometimes as if I could never carry 
this cross, Florence."" 

Mrs. Stoney’s tears dried at this, and her eyes assumed 
a wild stare and set themselves, apparently upon some ob- 
ject on the ceiling, for she made no reply nor mo\ed. 
Noting the change, Mr. Stoney rose, and with a half 
grumble, so low that no one but his victim and the guard- 
ian angel could possibly have heard, said, “ ingrate!"" and 
left the room. 

A few minutes later, as Myrtle opened the door, she saw 
at once the changed and peculiar expression upon her 
mother’s face. The eyes seemed set, and assumed a glassy 
hue. 

Going hastily to her, she shook her gently and said: 

“ Why, mamma Stoney, look at me! What is the 
matter?"" 

At Myrtle’s loving touch her mother rallied and glanced 
at her daughter. The tears burst afresh, and flowed in a 
torrent down her cheeks. “ Oh, Myrtle, is it you? I have 
been dreaming, I guess — of one— of one you — never knew. 
He went away — to heaven — years ago — we were children 
together — I loved that boy — but God took him. I have 
heard his voice, it seems to Vie, calling me to ‘come." Oh, 
my dear child, some sorrows are deep."" 

“ ‘ We seldom marry those whom first we love" are the 
words of the poet.” 

Myrtle strained every nerve to catch these faint, heart- 
broken sobs as they burst from her mother; but realizing 
the weak condition of her patient, did not cumber her with 
inquiries. She only said: 

“ Mamma, I love and pity you so. If you wish to tell me 
anything, feel free to do so. " You know all things work 
together for good to those who love God.” 

“ Yes. all is well,” said her mother in a whisper, drawing 
the hand of her daughter to her i)arched lips and kissing 
it. A broken and contrite heart the Lord will not despise. 


84 


**CONSIDEnA TIONS: 


God bless yon, Myrtle. I am very tired. Try and soothe 
me to sleep.” 

Myrtle knelt by the bedside, and with heart uplifted 
invoked Divine strength, and with full assurance of the 
sacred, sad truth for the first time strove to bring rest to 
her weary charge. She succeeded at length, but the rest 
bore only the marks of the eternal. With her whole soul 
and heart open before her God, did she beg of him to sus- 
tain her, and bear her up in the crisis which she felt sure 
was close at hand. Her mother was never more to arise 
from her bed, except as her spirit rises and takes its 
eternal flight. She at last got up and sent for Dr. Jen- 
nings, who was there in a very short time. As he stepped 
into the room, followed by Pauline, Phebe and Joe, he 
shook his head and said : 

Send for the rest.” 

When he noted the absent expression of the eyes, and 
the pale face, he knew the truth; so did they all. 

Joe, in broken sobs and with streaming eyes, ran as fast 
as his poor tired legs could take him to the store and 
said : 

^‘Mr. Stoney and Stephen, come into the house, this 
minute. Miss Stoney is a dyin’ they all think and so do I.” 

They both, too much surprised — or at least it was a sur- 
prise to Stephen — to make many ceremonies, hastened; but 
by no means did they get ahead of Joe. He got to the bed 
a quarter of a minute before; taking the hand of the dy- 
ing woman, he pressed it, and in his anguish said: 

Oh, Miss Stoney! I am so sorry for you!” 

By this time the husband and son reached the door, 
and Myrtle, going up and grasping a hand of each, said: ^ 
fear the worst has come.” 

Mr. Stoney turned to the doctor and said: 

Do you think her dangerous?” 

Yes; she has not long to stay with you.” 

Mr. Stoney stepped to the bed, and glanced into the 
depths of the eyes; then took his seat by the grate, like a 
convict awaiting his sentence. 

Stephen said: ^‘Oh, Myrtle; this is hard! I had no idea 
mother was so sick; did you?” 

Yes; I feared it,” said Myrtle. 

“ How long has she been so low?” 

I found her worse after returning from tlie supper- 
table.” 


> ■ GO NSW ERA TIONS. ” 85 

Stephen here went to his mother, and in anguish, which 
his own words will better portray, said: 

“Oh, mother! I can never bear this. I did not know 
you. were so sick; forgive me. Can we bear it. Myrtle?’’ 
looking at her imploringly, as if for help. 

Oh, yes, Stephen; we must bear it.” 

At the touch of Stephen, Mrs. Stoney moved her e 3 ^es 
and fastening them upon him, as the sign of instant 
recognition was apparent in them, said something, but the 
son never knew his mother’s benediction. He could not 
catch her words. With the steadfast gaze at Stephen, Mrs. 
Stoney passed from life, not unto death, but unto life 
eternal; for — 

“ He that believeth on Me, even though he be dead, 
yet shall he live.” 

It being about sunset when Mrs. Stoney passed away, 
the news of her demise did not spread very extensively that 
night; but next morning, as the rising sun fell full upon 
the bold front of Stoney Mansion, none of the Bonville 
folk could fail to see the long crape as it draped from the 
front second-story window, whose blinds, so long open to 
let into the sick-room the healing sunshine, were now 
closed. 

“ Mrs. Stoney is dead!” was the first intelligence that 
ran through the town, as the hesitating rays of day 
streamed in upon the inhabitants of Bonville, on March 
1st 

At the house we find the silence which death always en- 
genders. Even Hannah has sufficient respect for herself 
to drop feather bed and rheumatism, for the time being, 
only, we fear, to resume them in the near future with re- 
gained energies. 

Myrtle went about the house calmly giving orders and 
making the necessary arrangements preparatory to inter- 
ment. 'J’hough long and sad at times did she sit by the 
form of clay, as if hoping to read or hear one more word 
of holy benediction, sucli as only a consecrated mother 
can pour upon her child. In vain! “It is well” were the 
last accents of thoselips; and with the assurance which sank 
deep into lier own broken heart, she picked up the cross 
and carried it, three days later, to the open grave of her 
juother, in such a graceful way as only the humble cross- 
bearers of Christ can carry their burdens. 


8G 


**CONSIBERA TI0N8. 


Saying ‘over and over in lier heart It is well/’ she 
returned to tlie desolate home, when she read in the sick- 
room, with the truest of realization, the motto: 

“ Whac is home without a mother?” as it hung over the 
entrance door. As her vague vision beheld tlie words, she 
threw herself upon the couch, and gave vent to tears 
which flowed freely and relievingly and long. 

“ Must Jesus bear the cross alone, 

And all the world go free ? 

No ; there’s a cross for every one ; 

And there’s a cross for me.” 

Thus once more she took up the burden of life and 
awaited developments. 


CHAPTER Xr. 

Notwithstanding Myrtle’s protests to the contrary, 
the funeral of Mrs. Stoney was, of course, according to the 
will of Thomas 8toney, a popular and grand affair. It 
seemed that he chose this way of atoning for his sin against 
her, or perhaps more likely, of covering up his crime. 

All that money could do, was done in the way of 
decorations, both of home and church, etc. 

Myrtle wished for a quiet funeral at the house, but not 
so Mr. Stoney. 

No tears were shed over the form of Florence 8toney 
more tinctured with grief than those of Pauline, Phebe 
ami Joe, as they, in her own private room, begged a fare- 
well view. Myrtle’s preference in the matter would have 
been to have done likewise; but of course under the cir- 
cumstances this would have been far from bein^ the thino- 
to do. ^ 

Hannah, on the arm of her brother, under the folds of 
her long crape veil, was quite a conspicuous personage. 
Myrtle, led by her brother, wore a plain, black nun’s- 
veiling suit, with perfect freedom from the doleful crape, 
but with face exposed to public g.ize, calmly took her last 
long look at the sacred dust,” and we are sure that ‘Ht is 
woii’ .served as a severe clieck to tiie flood of pent- up tears. 


^‘(JONSIDKRA TIONS. 


8? 


which found no escape until alone in her mother’s room, 
with eyes uplifted to the motto, they burst forth in a tor^ 
rent as described. 

At the table, on the evening of the funeral, Haiinali was 
the first to break the silence. 

‘‘How nicely everything passed off co-day I” She looked 
first at Myrtle, then at Stephen; but receiving not even 
a look of response from these sad faces, she rested her 
vision upon Mr. Stoney, and finished her remarks of 
approbation by adding: “Didn’t you think so?” 

“ Yes,” said he. “ It was my intent that it should be 
so, and I am pleased to realize that my expectations were 
fulfilled. Florence was well worthy of all I could do for 
her in this respect.” 

At these words the tears fell like rain upon Stephen’s 
lap, as he leaned back to prevent them from intermingling 
with his bit of supper. After becoming convinced that he 
could in no way control them, he rose, and by way of the 
great hall sought the parlor. Seating himself in the 
easiest chair, he wept like a child, and said aloud: “Oh, 

1 am all tired out! 1 feel as if I would like to be rocked 
to sleep once more; but — alas! I have no mother!” At, 
these. words his grief became almost unbearable. “Oh, I 
did not realize mother was so sick! What could it have 
been ?” 

Wailing back and forth in his chair, Myrtle found him, 
as she opened the door; going up to him and seating her- 
self upon the large arm of the chair in which he sat, she 
threw her arms around his neck, and mingled her tears 
with his. Finally, Stephen, looking up at her, said: 

“ Myrtle, why was it so?” 

“To draw us, brother jind sister, nearer together, and 
make us love each other more. We have lived too much 
apart in the past, and now we will be di’awn closer together 
in one common sympathy.” 

“ Myrtle, I do not have time to be drawn in any direc- 
tion, only toward that block out there” (referring to the 
store); “it is becoming tome tlie block of execution. 
Myrtle, truly nine- tenths of the responsibility falls upon 
me. Father throws too much of it upon me. Why must 
we kill ourselves to keep ourselves?” 

“ Stephen, I am not surprised to hear this from you. 1 
know you are working too hard.” 


88 


^^C0N.<ijnEnA TioxEy 


It is nice though/^ said he, to have all these things 
at our command, or would be, if mother were only here to 
enjoy them with us/^ 

‘•Stephen, I sometimes think she did not enjoy them 
much. Mamma had a great deal to bear, Steplien; don’t 
you think so?” 

I think so now, but did not realize it until it is — too 
late. Oh, how I wish I knew, I would give all I am worth 
— to know mother’s last words to me.” 

“ Let us believe them to be the same as her benediction 
upon me: ‘ God bless you.’ I am quite sure that is what 
she said.” 

“Myrtle, I am in doubt as to whether there be a God. 
It seems as if the only one we have is this great house and 
the block.” 

“ I am in no doubt as to the existence of a true, loving 
God. I make Him first, and things of earth the second. 
I think you would be happier if yon did this. We must 
not love the gift more than the giver.” 

“You are so reconciled to this world and its evils. I 
wish I could be!” 

• “ No, I am not reconciled to this world and its evils at 
all; and that is what plagues me. I so wonder if I- have 
to be reconciled to evil. I ain in a great measure recon- 
ciled' to God and to all good, and this is why I do not 
murmur at mamma’s death. I believe it v/as His will and 
all for good, as her own dear words expressed: ‘ It is well.’ 
It is not at the will of God that I murmur, but the will of 
the devil.” 

“Well, let us endeavor to find rest to our poor, sick 
hearts and souls in sleep. I shall not go near that store 
again to-night, but to my bed. Good-night, Myrtle,” 
said he, stooping and kissing her on the forehead. “ I 
have a dear sister, and am glad I have found it out in 
time to treat her civil and appreciate her while she is yet 
with me.” 

“Good-night. Rt-member my benediction and be a 
dear good brother to this ‘ dear sister ’ of youis.” 

They parted at the parlor door; he going to his room 
and she to her own, after a few minutes’ lingering alone 
in the parlor. After reaching her room she took her ac- 
customed seat before the grate, after slipping into her 
loose wrapper; and, relieving herself of her shoes, sought 


‘CON SID ERA TIONS. 


89 


by the aid of fire to get action into her cold, clammy ex- 
tremities. Thinking only of the sad events of the day she 
naturally had no enthusiasm except to meditate upon mat- 
ters as they immediately concerned her. She at length 
dropped into a light slumber, and for a short time even 
wandered from the somber pall of her mother’s casket. 
Suddenly she was almost terrified by the sudden and un- 
welcome rap at her door. Kising and staggering to it she 
opened, and there, to her dismay, stood the tall black- 
draped aunt. 

“ Come in,” said she witii difficulty. 

Hannah walked in and up to the grate. do not 
know but I am intruding, but to my dismay I found my 
fire out, and not feeling able to bear up under tlie rekin- 
dling, I thought I would just step in and warm my feet by 
your fire.” 

Will you sit down?” said Myrtle, wheeling a chair up 
for her. 

Yes, thank 3^011. Well, Myrtle, really I feel like con- 
gratulating you upon the- manner in which you bore up 
to-day.” . 

VVe can bear much if we must,” said Myrtle. 

True. But somehow I could not be so unconcerned 
when E<lward died. I just broke clear down. I felt 
terribly,” producing the black-bordered handkerchief and 
wiping the tear which Myrtle well knew did not make its 
appearance; but you have so many nice and beautiful 
things and such a dear, indulgent father, that you really 
will not miss your mother anything like I do Edward.” 

Myrtle made no reply to this, but sat motionless. She 
weir knew she had a battle to fight with this op- 
ponent, and certain precautions must be taken on her 
part in order to bring about the best results and in the 
most peaceable way. 

"‘Now, Myrtle,” said Hannah, "T do not know as it is 
my business, but being your aunt, and naturally very 
much interested in your welfare as well as your father’s, I 
am going to take the liberty of offering a bit of advice. 
If I were you — it will be better for all concerned — I would 
not brood over this sorrow any more than I could possibly 
help. Your mother is gone, and no amount of crying or 
pondering will bring her back. We must live for the liv- 
ing and not for the dead. The easiest way to outlive such 


90 


‘ ‘ CONSIDERA TIOJSrS. 


things is to seek society and all the cheerful company yon 
can. Of course, out of due respect, and for the looks, we 
must keep the blinds closed for a season — say two or three 
weeks; but as soon as possible let us open them up and 
put the bright side out. People will not feel free to call, 
if we keen so shut up.'’^ 

“ Well, Hannah, I am not in condition to-night to give 
such things much thought. I am very tired and cannot 
do anything but brood, 

Oh, but you must. We must not nurse these sad fea- 
tures. Why, if I had shut myself up and harbored my 
troubles I should have gone crazy. Oh, no; we must rise 
above these things, and the sooner the better. It makes 
it so unpleasant for your father to have you sit and think 
so much. Well, 1 guess my feet are warm and I hud better 
go. Oil, my shoulders do pain me so to night! I am 
afraid I shall not sleep. Many a night do I toss nearly all 
night and scarcely shut my eyes.” 

What is the matter with them?” said Myrtle. 

Didn’t your father tell you about it? I have rheuma- 
tism, terribly; and I am, oh, so sorry; so sorry to know 
about the feather beds. I just calculated on having one of 
them to sleep on when I got here. Springs and mattresses 
are a terror to me. What a pity about the beds! I feel 
like crying my eyes out, but have just been telling you that 
it does no good to cry; and I know it don’t.” 

What beds? I do not know what you mean.” 

Wiiy, the two feather beds that my mother, your own 
grandmother, gave to Thomas. She thouglit so much of 
them, and picked every featlier herself. Poor old soul! 
If slie could speak now I guess siie would feel pretty bad 
to know her only girl couldn’t have one to lie on.” 

On, our feather beds, which we used to have, do you 
mean? Mother had those renovated and made into 
pillovvs.” 

Yes, I have heard all about it, to my sorrow. I think 
it was the most foolish thing 1 ever heard of in all 
my life.” 

“ Well, it is done, and we have not a feather bed in the 
house; so I see no other way only for you to seek some 
other antidote for your rheumatism, or else buy you abed. 
What have you done with your two beds? You had your 


••CONSWEnA TIONS. 


91 


^ Here Hannah was seized with a violent fit of coughing, 
and after sufficiently recovering from the attack, glanced 
at the clock, and said : 

**Why, 1 had no idea it was so late. Excuse me for 
keeping you up so long.’^ 

*•' Yes, 1 will excuse you,” said Myrtle. 

By this time Hannah was at the door, which to Myrtle’s 
relief, closed behind her. Myrtle picked up her Bible and 
read with a faint smile of satisfaction: Resist the devil 
and he will flee froiU thee.” 

With a simple revelation of the actual truth in regard 
to Hannah ^s of the beds inherited from her mother, we 
will drop the question. They were sold, with several 
other articles of usefulness, in Colorado, to defray my 
Edward's ” funeral expenses. 

It is marvelous how soon Hannah's rheumatic joints 
and the mattress fouud a reconciliation, as we suppose they 
must have done so, for, since the day in question, Hannah 
is always ready to talk upon any other topic before that of 
the feather beds. ‘‘The sword shall enter their own 
Iiearts.” 

For a few days everything went olf very quietly at 
Stoney Mansion. Myrtle went out but little, except to the 
store. This was something she had not been in the habit 
of doing, but in her loneliness she often sought Stephen's 
company here. She can hanlly realize that she is awake. 
Everything seems so dreamy, and her mind sceerns stupid 
and benumbed. It is possible that this sad rest is just 
what she needs, as she is worn in mind as well as body. 

On the fifth day after her mother's burial she returns to 
her room from a long hour at the store in Stephen's com- 
pany, and on the threshold lays a letter, which has been 
slipped through the crack at the bottom. Picking it up, 
she wonders at the address, which is not in a familiar 
hand; coarse, and roughly penned are the words, though 
plain. The postmark is ‘‘ Bonville.” Breaking the seal, 
she reads: 


^CBonville, March 5, 1891. 

^^Dear Miss Stoney: I beg yon to excuse me for tak- 
ing this privilege, but Mrs. Maxwell and I both wish to 
send to you our sympathies at this time of your bereave- 
ment in the peison of your mother. We know what it 


92 


‘ ‘ G0N81DERA TIO NS. *' 


costs to bury dearest friends. We hope, as you have 
sought to comfort us, you may be comforted. 

^'Mrs. Maxwell is on the gain; can sit up an hour at a 
time twice a day. We thank you more tlian you know 
for your kind favor through the doctor^s wife. If you 
can call and see Mrs. Maxwell, I am sure it will do her 
good. The doctor and his wife have been very kind to us. 
We are your hopeful friends, 

""Joseph and Mary Maxwell.” 

Myrtle, upon the receipt of this letter, almost con- 
demned herself because she had been so unmindful of 
these people of late. Going at once to her desk, she 
writes the following: 


"‘ Bonville, March 8, 1891. 

""My Esteemed Friends, Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell: 
Your kind letter just received. Thank you for the 
pains you have taken to comfort me. Truly the loss of 
my mother is to me a great one, but "The Lord giveth 
and the Lord taketh away.^ Almost the last words slie 
said to me were "It is well.^ Let us try and believe it to 
be so. I intend to come and see you as soon as I get 
some rested. With very best of wishes for you both, and 
rejoicings to know of Mrs. MaxwelTs convalescence, I am 
your true friend. Myrtle Stoney.” 

This letter seemed to arouse Myrtle to her old self to a 
great extent. Slipping into her wrap, she starts to the 
office to post it. After it is safely within the letter-box 
she still extends her journey in the direction of the doc- 
tor’s instead of returning home. She is cheerfully received 
by Mrs. J., who says, as she gives her a cordial hand: 

“ Come in. Miss Stoney. 1 am very glad indeed to see 
you. I was afraid you would be sick. 1 had it in mind to 
call on you to-day or to-morrow. How are you?” 

""lam fairly well, thank you. I only feel tired and so 
very stupid. I suppose it is because I have lost so much 
sleep of late.” 

“ Yes, that is it. You must sleep all you can until you 
regain it.” 

1 have just received a kind letter of sympathy from 


‘ ‘ COMSIUEHA TWIN'S. 


93 


the Maxwells, and have answered it. ■ Mrs. Maxwell is j^et- 
ting better.'"’ 

“ Yes; the doctor saw Mr. Maxwell a few days ago, and 
he told him the same. Don't it seem nice to hear it?" 

Truly I am glad. I intend calling tliere in a few 
days. Would you like to go with me?" 

“If it will please you 1 can go; but just now I have 
considerable on my hands, and if you just as soon excuse 
me, I will be glad. I will fix up some little thing and send 
them." ^ 

“ Very well, you need not go. I will be pleased to take 
the things to them. 1 hope to do something, too." 

“Verily I believe," said Mrs. Jennings, “that more is 
due to these little attentions than anything else, for the 
fact that she is better." 

“I believe the same," said Myrtle. 

As they were thus engaged in conversation. Dr. Jen- 
nings came in with: 

“ Good afternoon. Miss Stoney. I had not seen you for 
so long that I was telling my wife this day that we must 
look you up. We feared you were sick. How are you?" 

“ Very well, doctor, thank you. This is the first time I 
have been on the street." 

“ We are glad to see you about. Is your aunt going to 
remain with you?" 

“1 do not know. As yet I see no signs to the con- 
trary." 

“ What kind of a woman is she, anyway? I would not 
be so free to speak to you in this way, had you not said 
what you did in regard to her — her relation to your mother, 
I mean." 

“ Well, to tell you the truth, I do not know. She is as 
great a mystery to myself as to you, I think." 

“ Did your mother take it to heart because she was 
there? Did it worry her?" 

“ Yes, very much. She never made herself at all agree- 
able to my mother.'* 

“If you will allow me to ask a few questions in regard 
to your mother I would like to do so.'^ 

“ Certainly, you may." 

“ Who was in the room with her prior to your finding 
her in her last condition?" 

“ My father. He came in after eating his supper, and 


94 


*^CONSIDEnA T10N8. 


told me to go and eat mine. I did not hurry back, for I 
supposed everything was right and he was there. He says 
he could not have been absent from the room long, f<H- lie 
sta3^ed nearly as long as 1 told him I was away. He said lie 
left her, as he supposed, in a nap.'’^ 

‘‘ Hid you ever ask him what his conversation with her 
was about, if he had any?’^ 

No, sir; but I think he said but little to her. I in- 
formed him especially of her excitable condition, and asked 
him to say as little as he could, and, of course, he re- 
garded it.^’ 

“ It was very unfortunate that Mrs. Springer should 
have come there at that particular time. I guess she is an}- 
thing but one of the ' blessed peace-makers.'^’ 

You are quite right in your estimation.” 

Here the conversation drifted to matters in general, and 
soon Myrtle took her leave. As she went into the yard she 
met Joe sauntering carelessly along and hunting for a 
job of work therein. With his pick on Ids shoulder and 
a broad smile upon his face, he approached her. 

“ Well, Myrtle, I shall be glad when this yard begins to 
turn green, for then it will be more like I be and wdll need 
my care. I am so lontsnm as I can w’ell be. I can’t hardly 
set myself at a thing.” 

“I am lonely too, Joe. 1 have a job for you in a day or 
so, if we can manufacture an excuse to ofTer to father. I 
want you to take me to see Mrs. Maxwell.” 

Pshaw! we don’t want no excuse; jest say we’re goin’ 
and go ’long. He w'on’t know wdiere we go. Tell him you 
are goin’ for a ride, and I’ll take you up there so mighty 
quick that you’ll be ’stonisl\ed.” 

I will let you know wdien I conclude to go.” 

‘^Say,” said he, don’t for mercy’s sake lisp it to Han- 
ner! for if you do she’ll be a-stickin’ on herself in to go 
’long.” 

These were the words of caution that she heard as she 
started for the house, and surely they were not far out of 
place. She had not been long in the house when Hannah 
is seen by Joe creeping down the path in the very direction 
which, if followed, would land her face to face with him- 
self; noticing this fact, he jm mediately has an errand to 
the other corner of the yard, Avheie he turns his back 
abruptly to the corner of the compass from which she 


‘ ‘ CO xs ID ERA no NS. ” 


95 


would naturally come, and with his spade sets to digging a 
weed or two. In due time she presents herself befoie him. 
He does not raise his head, but draws the brim of his ex- 
ceedingly broad hat even lower than common. 

Joe, Thomas says you are to take me out for a ride to- 
day. I have not been into a buggy since I came, only the 
day of the funeral, and I very much feel the need of get- 
ting out.” 

“ Well, git out then, jest as soon as you please.” 

“ I mean I feel the need of an airing.” 

1 should think you would.” 

Well, I mean I so long to get out — away from home.” 

You are both out and away from home. What more 
do you want?” 

Thank you, Joe Tinker: 1 always expect to have a 
home as long as my dear brother lives, and under his roof 
too, if I prefer it.” 

“I do not know as I need any of 3 ’our thanks.” 

^^Now Joe, it is not polite in you to speak thus to me. 
I shall not argue further. Shall be ready in one hour.” 

“ Rejidy for what? — the Judgment Day?” 

No, sir; for tlie drive!” and she is a rod or so on her 
road back to the house. 

“ Oh, for the great, dear, good Lord^s sake, what shall 1 
do? I cannot set in a buggy '’longside of Yr no rnorehi 1 
can fly, not a bid Why don't some one have mercy?” 

He throws pick and spade across his shoulder and slowly 
finds his way to the house, and also Myrtle. 

“Say, ^lyrtle, for gracious' sake do help me out of my 
trouble! Hanner come a-pokin' out there in the yard, and 
when I see her a-comin' I jest stai'ted and went clear to the 
fu'therend; but on she tagged a-follerin' on me up, and 
stood square front of me and said: 

“ ‘Joe, Thomas says you are to take me out for a drive. 
I feel the need of goin' out.' I said: ‘You be out, ain't 
you?' but she politely infoi’med me that there was to be no 
arguin' of the matter and started for the house, a-sayin': 
‘ I'll be ready in an hour.' I was so beat and worked up 
over it that 1 didn't know which way to turn, so I made for 
you. What in the world can I do?” 

“ I can help you out of your dilemma, I believe. You 
say nothing to any one about it, but go and hitch Chester- 
field into the two-se^ited surry, and when you drive up just 


96 


CONSIDER A T/ONS: 


say tliat you tboiiglit Myrtle would enjoy a ride too and yon 
are going to take her along. I will be ready in an hour,” 
said she, laughing. 

At this Joe clapped his hands and laughed as he had not 
done in three months. 

“Oh, Myrtle, you are my deliverer, and I shall always 
come to you in times of trouble if you will agree to it. 1 
have a notion to give you a kiss fur y^ir blessed good- 
ness!” 

Starting for the barn, and whistling as he went, he 
slapped Lord Chesterfield on the right upper corner of his 
back, which made him jump. 

“Come! wake up here, old boy! There’s another victTy 

to be won, and Joe Tin Oh, no; Myrtle Stoney’s the 

rider on the 'White lIoV this time! Wake up, I say!” 

He threw on his harness, and after making all ready, 
went to his room to dress. Joe is a fine-looking man 
(being a perfect example of the open-he«rted truth and 
honesty which cannot help reflecting itself from his broad, 
clever profile) when in liis best clothes, and he is never 
allowed behind Chesterfield on the street without them. 
Although he had declared in his own mind that he wouldn’t 
“change a dud to take Hanner for a ride if I git turned 
off the minute I git back,” when he found Myrtle was 
going he changed his mind completely. In just fifty min- 
utes Chesterfield is prancing up to the carriage-way. Han- 
nah is there on the step as soon as he reaches it. 

“Why, Joe! What made you go in this? I supposed 
you would hitch to the one-seated buggy.” 

“ Well, I can tell ye. I tho’t Myrtle would like a ride as 
well’s you; so Tm goin’ to take her. She will be here in a 
minute or two, or three, or four — prob’ly in five, anyway” 
(looking at his watch), “the time ain't up yit foi‘ five 
minutes.” 

Hannah did not openly rebel against the arrangement, 
but one could see her face was quite a bit longer. 

“Come, pile in there!” said Joe; “into the fu’ther cor- 
ner of the very hind seat.” 

“It is customary, Joe, for the gentlemen to help the 
ladies into the carriage, isn’t it?” 

“I don’t care what the 'costume’ is! I’m no real gen- 
tleman no more’n you are a lady, and if you can’t git into 
that ’ere buggy you may stay out!” 


'•CONSIDERA TI0N8. 


97 


Hannah got into the seat assigned her as best she 
could. By the time she was nicely perched Myrtle ap- 
peared at the door. 

Well, Joe, you are ahead of time. I am not behind 
the time a speck, said she. Hannah, I think it quite 
thoughtful in you to suggest a ride to day. I am sure I 
shall enjoy it. Joe, I am sure you will enjoy it, too.” 

“ Yes, you can count on me havin^ a picnic, as they say. 
Where do you want to go, Hanner? There's what they 
call ‘ the jum[)in^-off piece' out here a bit; shall I take you 
out there? Be you ready to take your last, final leap?” 

Oh, Joe, why do you act so silly! No, I did not come 
out for the purpose of jumping, but for a pleasant ride, 
and I wish to enjoy it.” 

Myrtle felt quite sure in her own mind that Joe picked 
out the roughest roads he could find, not for her ben- 
efit, but for Hannah's, It repaid her for all the inconve- 
nience she persoiially suffered to note the smiles of satis- 
faction as they spread themselves over Joe's face, and as 
she heard the low, gratifying chuckles when the carriage 
struck a stone. Joe declares that it is the hardest thing 
he ever tried to do to ‘‘ love your enemies,” even Hannah 
Springer. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Once more aroused to a realizing sense of the duties 
devolving upon her. Myrtle sets out to discharge them one 
by one. Tlie first of April has- come with its encourag- 
ingly brignt, sunshiny smiles, intermingled with gentle 
showers, which are not unlike her own poor nature at this 
particular season; the shower is akin to the tender, large 
tears, that, in her lonely, meditative moments flowed 
freely. The weather offers her much out-of-door recrea- 
tion, which she eagerly seeks. 

The beautiful lawji fronting Stoney Mansion, with its 
beds of choicest flowers, as they make their appearance, 
presents to her mind a small Eden, in which she is often 
pleased to stray. 

One morning, rising earlier than usual, in her flowing 
morning dress, she starts for a stroll in the yard, hoping 


98 


^*CONSIDERA TIONS: 


thereby to encourage an appetite for breakfast, by a diet 
of the fresh morning’s sun and air. She meets Stephen 
coming in from the store, where he has already been en- 
gaged for half an hour. Going up to him, and slipping 
an arm through his, she says: 

“ Stephen, you have already been a time at your work, 
and I am only just dressed. Let us take a walk through 
the yaid and admire its beauties.’’ 

They walk arm in arm around the wide driveway, and 
up the long gravel walk, which is bordered on eitlier side 
with hyacinths, with their pink, white and blue blossoms 
throwing out their sweet perfumes. The “ bleeding-hearts ” 
bow their loving heads to them, as if in sympathy with their 
own. The songsters are busy at their work, inter- 
mingling every stroke of the hammer, gimlet and screw,” 

■ with which they rear their little homes, with their sweet- 
est melodies. 

‘^Oh, Myrtle,” said Stephen, “I never saw this yard so 
beautiful as now. It seems almost like as it appears to me 
heaven ought to look — or would, if our mother were only 
here. I miss her more and more as the days go by, and it 
seems as if I can hardly endure the thought.” 

“ She is in a more beautiful yard this morning than we 
are, Stephen, and the mansion in which she lives is one of 
the many not made with hands7 Oh, she is so much better 
off than we are! Let us not wish her here, but hope and 
strive to go where she is.” 

It appears to me that I shall never get anywhere 
•beyond the walls of the brick square front. Do you know. 
Myrtle, my work in the store is becoming a drudge to 
me?” 

‘‘I am very sorry for yoiu Now, as we take tliis pleas- 
ant walk, I want you to see nothing but the beauties it 
affords; and I ahi going to make a proposition to you. I 
know that you are working too hard, and I suggest that I 
hidp yon. I will work every forenoon in the store with 
you and keep you company, and then in the afternoon I 
can look after the house, etc. Now what does father give 
you for your services?” 

‘• He gives me one-third of the net proceeds, and I do 
not own, or, that is, do not have in my name, as vet. anv 
of the. stock. ” ■ - > ^ 

Wlnit would you be willing to pay me for a solid half- 
day’s work? And be assured I will not shirk,” 


‘ ‘ CON SID EDA no NS. 


99 


*• ^'^'1 am favorably impressed with the idea at tot sight. - 
If you are sure it will uot hurt you to do the work, I will 
give you three dollars a week, and more if you ask it.” 

“That is magnificent, Stephen. I will take your place 
behind the counter and become thoroughly acquainted 
with the books, so I can manage them, ainl then you can 
have a half-day off for yourself once in awhile, when the 
work is not too heavy. I know I shall enjoy it; so will 
you.” 

“ Yes, but are you not afraid father will object?” 

“I do not think he will, if I tell him I wish to do it, so 
as to be more with you and to help you.” 

“I presume you would do two-thirds as much as Ralph. 
We will talk with father about it.” 

“Very well. Let us now go in to breakfast. I know 
we shall eat a good, substantial one, after this nice walk 
and our pleasant scheme.” 

They went in and found Mr. Stouey and Hannah at the 
table. 

“ We are late,” said Myrtle, “but do not scohl us, papa. 
We have been taking a morning's walk in the yard. It is 
beautiful.” 

I expect you will eat more than ever,” said he, laugh- 
ing. “I am afraid your gain will be my loss.” 

“It surely will be, for the walk has given us both an 
appetite.” 

“I guess if you had my aches you would not feel much 
like taking many walks before breakfast,” said the aunt. 
“ It is as much as I care to do to dress and make my way to 
this place.” 

“I am quite free from bodily pain these days, for which 
I anrvery thankful,” said Myrtle. 

“ So am I,” said Stephen. “ I am not in pain of body, 
but I am in pain of mind.” 

“ And what seems to weigh upon your mind?” said Mr. 
Stoney, in a cold, unsympathetic tone; “ your sins?” 

“ I guess so. I cannot reconcile myself to things.” 

“ Stephen has no heavy sins,” said his sister interced- 
ingly. “ I am willing to share his sins, or bear them all 
if I can.” 

Hannah expresses herself as having done justice to the 
meal by shoving back, and mechanically folding her nap- 
kin. Myrtle hoped in her heart that she would leave the 


100 


“ G0N8IDERA TIG NS.'' 


table, thiis-aflfordihg her an opportunity of making known 
their plan to her father; but she is always the one to tarry, 
lest there be a word which she does not hear, or a plan 
made in which she does not freely give her advice. 

Soon Mr. Stoney went to the store, and Myrtle, by 
slighting the breakfast in a measure, followed him. She 
found him in the depths of his easy-chair and tobacco 
smoke, with his feet upon another in the sun, which 
streamed in at the large doors in luxuriance. 

‘^Now, father, Ido not wish to share this cigar, but 
suppose I must — the smoke — if I stay with you. I have a 
bit of contract to make with you. Stephen says he is 
’Working hard in the store at present, and of course you do 
too; I realize that the confinement is too much for you 
both. I have offered to work in the store each foi'enoon, 
and then in the afternoon I can superintend the house, 
make and receive calls, etc., and then have ample time to 
myself. I long for s(n))e change aiid diversion, and tlds 
will relieve you and Stephen enough so you can, once in 
awhile, get out. What do you say to it?” 

“ VV^ell, Myrtle, your motives may be all right, but I 
think your })resent duties, if well attended, are quite 
enough. I think it is now time that we throw open the 
win<lows and doors to people and begin to live again. I 
begin to long to see folks once more. Hannah thinks it is 
the best thing we can do. It isn’t best to cherish our 
troubles too long.’’ 

Well, I am willing to open the windows and doors and 
let in tnis beautiful spiing sun a>id air which is so invig- 
orating; but, father. I cannot take the lead or even en- 
gage in the gay circle such ns was accustomed to form at 
our house before mamma died. I believe overwork in that 
line caused her death.” 

I do not,” said he, ‘^your mother w^as never strong. 
Myrtle, and never bore hardly her part of the burdeli; 
but of course it is all past and gone.” 

“ I think mamma did veiT, very much to save and get 
along, father.” 

‘‘Yes, she w'as saving enough, especially of her own' 
strength; I am aware of tiiat.” 

“ Oh, father, it seems as if it would kill me to have you 
thus speak of my dear, good inother.” 

“It is only llie trntii, Myrtle; an 1 Hannah know’^s it of 


^KJOmiUEIlATIONS:* ' 101 

old, as well as I do. Socially, she always held me back,: 
and in this respect she was a stumbling block to me.” 

You know there are some ‘ stumbling blocks,’ or one, 
at least, which, instead of being a disadvantage to all good, 
is to be an advantage and blessing. 'Behold! I place in 
Zion a stumbling stone.’ I believe mamma’s lack of en- 
thusiasm in this, respect was only your balance wheel.” 

" Myrtle, you are very set in your way, and if you still 
intend to adhere to these old fogies, I am afraid there may 
be an upheaval here somewhere.” 

"Well, father, I do not utterly disregard your wishes, 
and when I feel as if I could, will do in this respect what 
1 can consistently, and not infringe upon my health. But, 
father, 1 cannot at present, 'nor can I ever, spend my even- 
ings in late revelry and dissipation. It would use me up. 
But what do you think of my services at the store? 1 can 
help much, and it will be but recreation for me.” 

" I have no objections to your trying it as I know of; but 
trust you will very soon get your fill and conclude you 
would rather entertain in the parlor. I think your in- 
fluence in the store may be good, and perhaps may help ns 
some.” 

" Thank you,, papa. 1 will begin Monday morning if it 
is satisfactory.” 

Myrtle flew to the rear of the store to carry the news to 
Steplien, then into the house to impart it to Pauline, 
Phebe and Joe. She does not tell Hannah yet. Joe 
laughed and portrayed to Myrtle how she would skip 
round the store, and how polite she would be to cus- 
tomers. 

" Why,” said he, "it will be money in Thomas Stoney’s 
pocket, but not much in yours, 1 reckon.” 

" JSTever mind that. I am not in a suffering condition, 
just now, at least.” 

Myrtle went directly to the library, and throwing open 
the blinds and raising the windows sufficiently to admit a 
portion of the soft air, she opened her piano, and for the 
first time in three months sought consolation from its ten- 
der tones. She chooses the sweet, sacred tunes, which are 
more in harmony with her own and all nature. Mingling 
her voice with that of the instrument, it really gives to 
her much of satisfaction. 

She has not been long thus engaged when Hannah^ 


101 


'^CON8IDE!RATI0NS. 


attracted by the music as it floated up to her window, 
makes her appearance. Myrtle does not cease the music 
at her approach, but bows a sort of welcome,” and Han- 
nah goes into the room and takes a seat. She makes no 
remarks until Myrtle has finished the piece, and then she 
takes the opportunity. 

Well, well, I do wonder if that thing is liere to be 
used! I supposed it only stood there as an ornament. 
This is the first note I ever heard from it. I know. 
Myrtle, if I were yon I would endeavor to entertain my- 
self and others thus once in awhile, instead of brooding 
over my troubles. CaiTt you play a right-smart, lively 
piece for me?” 

do, as a general thing, sing and play much; but since 
mamma’s sickness I have not had the time or strength, and 
have not felt often in the mood.” 

“ Well, now. Myrtle, cheer up and give us a jig, or a 
something kind of light-hearted. I feel about as sad as 
you, and something of the sort will do us both good.” 

‘^No; 1 cannot indulge in such to-day. You must wait 
until the spirit so moves me.” 

Spirit — nothing! Talk about the spirit moving you or 
any one else to some one beside me. There is once in awhile 
a sanctified saint who delights in telling about the spirit 
moving her or him. As for me, I have to move myself if 
I ever am moved.” 

It must follow, then, that you are not one of the 
^ sanctified,’ ” said Myrtle, with a pleasant smile. 

Hannah said nothing, but sat listening awhile; theTi left 
the room. After dinner Myrtle donned a neat street cos- 
tume and started out for a walk. She had no definite point 
of destination in view, but as she neared the home of Angie 
Hart thought to call upon her. She is ushered into the 
small parlor by Angie, who says: 

Myrtle, I hope we are excusable for the general appear- 
ance of things here to-day. Mamma has set Saturday as 
the day on which to do the week’s wash, hoping to get a 
little help out of me; but I am set, soul and body, upon 
other matters, and it is difficult for me to enter into the 
true spirit of washing to any great extent. Just step in 
here, Myrtle,” said she, leading the way to the modest bed- 
room off the parlor. See my new gymnasium suit! Isn’t 
it nice? Oh, the girls are all going wild over the gymna- 


^'CONSIDERA TIONS. 


103 


sium up at school! We have engaged a veal professional 
teacher, and the}' are all getting their suits. Here is mine. 
See hV^ 

Yes, I see it, Angie, but although it may look nice to 
yon, I must be honest and say it does not look pretty to 
me. It positively has no charm for me, because I do not 
like that kind of diversion.” 

“ Why, Myrtle Stoney! All the teachers and best peo- 
ple in the country have pronounced it almost indispensable 
to the maintenance of good health and bodily grace to 
those engaged in mental work; and here you are bold 
enough to openly speak your disapproval, and even con- 
demnation, in the face of all this! What ever will become 
of you, Myrtle! What wrong is there in the gymnastics?” 

‘^It is a waste of energy, strength, time and clothes, 
because there is no real good to come from it.” 

^ “ Why, yes, there is. It develops the muscle.” 

“ I can develop my muscle doing some good in the 
world. ]Mo, Angie, although your suit may look becoming 
to you, I would not accept one as a gift. Let me state to 
you my views of the subject. I shall be plain, Angie, and 
paint it in bright colors, if you allow me to use the brush 
at all.” 

'‘All right; paint away.” 

" To begin, here is your mother, this very day, nearly 
breaking her back over the tub, undoubtedly vvashingyour 
own clothes. Here are all these small children. Your 
mother needs every speck of your extra energy to assist 
her in the great task. You have often told me that it is 
with difficulty you make the financial ends meet. You 
spend your money and time engaging in this thing for llie 
purpose of popularity, more than for the purpose of any 
good to be derived therefrom. Here, in your home, is one 
of the most noble opportunities for exercising your muscle, 
and in years to come, if not so much at present, you 
would have the satisfaction of knowing that you lifted a 
portion of your poor, tired mother^s burden. Oh, Angie! 
if I only had done more for my mother!” Here Mjrtle 
burst into tears. " We do not prize our mothers as we 
ought, till it is too late.” 

"I know, Myrtle. But you see I am one of the teach- 
ers, and want to do as the rest do. It would look strange 
for me to be odd from any of them.” 


104 


'‘CONSIDERA TIONS, 


*‘No; none of us must make fools of ourselves because 
ptliers do. Not for popularity must we live, but for the 
good that we can 

Angie replied: I "suppose so; but it just does not do 
any good to work in this house. The more one does the 
more she may, and not much of even thanks in tlie bar- 
gain. Oh, Myrtle, you have no idea what a trial it is to 
be poor and have such a family!^^ 

“ I suppose I can hardly realize. But you know it is 
very, very much harder for your mother than for you, and 
all you can do to lessen the work helps her just so much. 
.What if she breaks down, or — leaves you. But I must 
not stay longer; I have several things yet to do today. 
Come and see me, Angie; I shall be busy every forenoon 
now for a time, but shall be glad to see you any after- 
noon.” 

“ How do you get along at your house? Is your aunt 
still there, and is she going to stay?” 

I can say ‘yes ^ to the first question, but am unable to 
answer the last.” 

“ It makes it nice for you to have so near a relative. 
She, of course, takes interest in things.” 

As Angie said this she led the way to the front door. 
As the girls stood upon the porch a line of clothes could 
be seen swinging the whole length of the yard, and several 
cross-pieces filled in in bold relief. 

“Look at that, wonT you!” said Angie. “Isn’t it 
enough to make one sick at heart?” 

“ Let me say in reply that, in my estimation, you would 
look much prettier in your neat calico wrapper, hanging 
out clothes for your mother, than in that unbecoming suit, 
performing before a professional. Well, I must go. Good- 
afternoon,” and Myrtle is gone. 

“Oh, dear me!” said Angie, as she watched her down 
the street; “ it is easy enough for her to talk about how 
pretty it looks to see a girl hang out clothes. She has 
none of such work to do and never had. Myrtle Stoney 
knows nothing about trouble.” 


^^CONSIDKRA TIOKSA* 


105 


CHAPTER XIIL 

Early the following Monday morning Myrtle is as good 
as her word. Dressed in a plain worsted dress, with wliite 
apron, she makes her way to tlie store as soon as she has 
finished breakfasting. She is there, ready to welcome her 
father as he comes in, and carefully does she wheel for him 
his chair to the door, where he always smokes his early 
cigar. 

Why, Myrtle! I guess yon really mean business; you 
look that way.” 

Of course I do. I know this is going to be a rare treat 
for me.” 

One by one the customers began to drop in, and Myrtle, 
from behind the counter, so deftly tied up the little bundles 
and snapped off the cords with such grace and dexterity 
that more and moi-e did she convince her father that she 

meant business.” 

The customers bowed their inquiring ^^good-mornings” 
to her, which she returned by earnest and clever bows which 
seemed to say: 

“Oh, you have no need to wonder! I am here, have a 
perfect right here, and expect to stay as long as 1 like. 
Wnat will you have?” 

Hannah freely expresses her opinion on the subject, and 
thinks there is a plenty to do in the house, if matters were 
perfectly adjusted. She also thinks the men look better 
behind the counter, and that three men ought to be able to 
do -all there is to be done in the stoi'e. 

“ You need give yourself no uneasiness in this line,” said 
Mvrtle. “ f have my afternoons, and when I get things 
well into imnning order can manage them.” 

This conversation took place at the dinner-table, and her 
father had his “ say.” 

“ I feel a great deal as Hannah does about it, and am 
sure you will find it more than you can handle.” 

“I know she will,” emphasized Hannah. “I have seen 
people before who got so many irons into the fire that 
they were unable to manage any of them with any degree 
of satisfaction.” 

“ Well, let us cross no bridges until we reach them,” said 
Myrtle. “ 1 think it no harm to ‘give the boy a chance,' 


106 


^^CONSIBERA TIONS. 


so why is it any harm to give the girl a chance as well? 
We do nob know what we can do until we try/’ 

Oil, ^ Myrt ’ has got a will of her own,” said Stephen: 
*‘yoa may as well be convinced of that now as later. I 
notice her will is not always as far out of the way as it 
might be, either.” 

Myrtle spent the afternoon going about the house and 
seeing that all was in order, and after spending a portion 
of it in her own apartment looking after matters which 
pertained immediately to her own affairs, she dressed in a 
neat house-dress and, much to Hannah’s surprise, was 
enabled to entertain her aunt for an liour in the parlor. 
This she does by throwing it open to the bright sun, and 
even succeeds in fnrnisliing something of a ‘‘lively piece” 
of instrumental music. In short. Myrtle is becoming to 
II<innah as much of a wonder for her abilities as Hannah 
is to Myrtle on account of her peculiaiities and tastes. 

Thus does time speed on at the house and store. It 
might be noticeable in Myrtle as a clerk (and perhaps to 
some it might be pronounced objectionable to her), that 
her eyes and heart are ever open to the poor who go in and 
out of the store, and, in her measurements to them, she is 
always careful to see that they get a few grains, ounces or 
inches, as the case may be, over and above the exact 
notch. This might, by some, be termed being charitable 
at the expense of another, but she does not consider it 
thus. She well knows that the services which she renders 
to the “ firm ” are well worth double the amount which 
she receives, and knows it is by no means robbery to give 
the good ‘-Scripture measure”, and weight of justice. 
“With what measure ye mete, shall it be meted to you.’" 
is ever encouragingly spurring her on. Thus does she 
gain the favor of many of the “meek and low in life.” 

One day, after having been in the store a couple of weeks, 
she assures Joe that she wishes to go out for a ride in the 
afternoon, and that he must have Chesterfield “all saddled 
and bridled ” by two o’clock. She does not ask her father’s 
permission, for her valued services, both at the store and 
house, are gaining for her sort of an independence in regard 
to things in general, and questions are seldom asked by him 
as to her affairs outside of these duties. 

The eyes and ears of Hannah, however, are ever on the 
alert to her proceedings. Myrtle' has learned to answer as 


^•GONSIDERA TIONS. 


107 


many of her inquiries as she sees fit and as circumstances 
will allow, and to give her to understand that if all her 
ways be not strictly in harmony with those of her own 
ideal self she need give herself no unnecessary anxiety in 
regard to it. So, at t\vo o^dock on a pleasant day about 
the middle of April, do she and Joe start out upon the 
long-expected errand to the MaxwelTs, and Hannah never 
even found it out until she saw them driving away; and no 
one but Hannah Springer ever fully realized the inquisition 
that writhed in her breast, of which “ Where can they be 
going, I do wonder?^^ is a mild representative. 

Joe did not ask where she was going, but he well knew. 
After they are well-established within the light phaeton, 
an<l Chesterfield’s nose is beiit on turning one way or the 
other at the exit-gate, he said: 

Well, which way is it to-day. Myrtle?” 

1 wish to go to Mr. Maxwell’s.” 

What made me ask? I should like to know! 1 knew 
well enough that was where you was bent on goin’. All 
right. Now, Mr. Lord Chesterfield, you jest rally ’round 
to the right and take the track that leads direct to that 
Maxwell establishment, and not a word out 3^0111* head. 
How’s the old lady Maxwell now?” 

She was on the gain the last I heard.” 

That’s business. She’ll prob’bly pick right up and 
git w'ell now the pleasant weather has set in. It seems as 
if your mother might jest as well a-lived if we could only 
fetched ’er through the blusterin’ Mai'ch, and caused her 
eyes to a beheld tliis April’s sun a-shinin’. But bein’ as 
’twas that Hanner Stoney’s bein’ here, was ’nough to kill 
any one, guess she will git all on us. in our grave before 
she relents and gits there herself.” 

Well, Joe, let us leave her out of this ride entirely; 
and don’t drive over such rough places as you did the 
other day, either.” 

“ No; the roads have smoothed up and mellered off 
wonderful since that day. Come, Chesterfield, 1 s’posed 
ye had y’ur nap out afore we started. Mebby we better 
go back and let ye finish it. No, sir, wake up here! 
and if you have the impudence to draw this buggy agi’n a 
single stun ’twixt this place and Joe Maxwell’s I’ll disin- 
herit ye. I will fur a fact. Speed away! speed away!” 

Chesterfield rather rouses from his dream of green 


108 


^^CONSIDERA TIONSr 


pastures, and shady trees, and where there are no bot- 
flies, and speeds away;” and, a little over and above due 
time (according to Joe’s manner of reckoning), of his own 
accord reins in at the narrow gate in front of the little red 
cottage. 

Myrtle saw no stir, or heard none, until she rapped at 
the front door. In response to her call for admittance she 
heard a faint voice say: ‘^Oome in.” She opened the 
door and then she knew it to be the voice of Mrs. Maxwell, 
as she was the only person in the room. 

How do you do, Mi s. Maxwell?” said Myrtle. 

I don’t know as I can call you by name. I beg your 
pardon, but since 1 have been sick my eyesight is some- 
what impaired.” 

My name is Myrtle Stoney.” 

‘^Oh, yes; to be sure. How do yon do? 1 am glad to 
see you. Help yourself to a seat. Father has gone out to 
the woods to work up a little w'ood, and I am all alone; so 
you must wait on yourself.” 

Mrs. Maxwell was sitting in the large chair with a pillow 
to her back. 

You are better than when 1 last saw you, Mrs. Max- 
well,” said Myrtle, seating herself. 

Yes, I am gaining, but it is slow.” 

"‘Well, it is pleasant to know you are mending, even if 
it be slow.” 

“Oh, yes; 1 have much to be thankful for. Joseph is 
so good to me, and you will never know how we appreciate 
your kindness to us. It falls like dew upon our desert 
lives. We v/ere so sorry to hear of your bereavement. 
Since we lost our boy our sympathies go out to all those 
who are in like sorrow.” 

“ We all need kind, sympathizing friends at such times, 
more than ever, if such could be the case. Are you able to 
be upon your feet at all?” 

“ I can take a few steps, but Joseph is so ’fraid I will 
hurt myself that he will not let me take but one or two at 
a time. Josej)}! will be very sorry that he is away when 
you have come. It is necessary that he be out of the house 
some; so I tell him 1 can sit here alone. Me don’t stay over 
two hours at a lime.” 

“ I should liked to have seen him, but you must give him 
my good will. Now, Mrs. Maxwell, is there not something 


**CONSIDERA TIONS. 


109 


I can do for you while 1 remain? I can do any little thing 
wliich you need done. Cun 1 not make up vour bed all 
nice?” 

“Timnk you! Father makes it pretty good generally, 
but only shook it up tliis morning. If you can, it would 
seem nice to have you fix it.” 

“Yes, I will make it. I am quite a good hand to do 
beds, they say,” said Myrtle, laughing a mild empliasis to 
her own self-praise. Make your bed soft and lie soft,’ 
is my motto: for as we make it so must we lie.” 

Myrtle went into the little bedroom and very carefully 
does she shake up the straw, and as she laid the huge 
feather bed in its place slie thought — “ Truly if Hannah 
had that bed she might find rest to her rheumatism.” 

She carefully looked over the room, dusted and arranged 
the little stand and bureau. Then going out, said: 
“ Now, Mrs. Maxwell, I want to do one more chore for 
you before 1 go.” 

“ It is so clever of you. I know I shall rest on that 
bed to-night; I shall think of you and go to sleep. But I 
do not feel quite right to have you work all the time you 
are here.” 

“ That is what I came for. I came to cheer you and 
do you good. Please tell me one more thing you would 
like done.” 

“ Well, there is one thing that would do me a world of 
good to have done, if I can have such soft, gentle hands 
as yours do it for me.” 

“ Pray tell me what it is; I am longing to know.” 

“Do you like to comb a person’s hair?” 

“ Oh, 3 -es; of course I do. Why did I not think of that 
myself? I am so glad you spoke of it. I used to comb 
my mother’s hair so often” — here the voice quivered a bit, 
and the tears filled her eyes as she went to the little comb- 
case and got the comb. “ It was the only way 1 could 
quiet her when she became restless.” 

Going up to Mrs. Maxwell she carefully untied the large 
coil, and after long and gentle combing, braided it 
into two smooth braids, which she did up by crossing and 
twining them back and forth. When she pronounced it 
done she said: 

“ Well, I see the horse is becoming impatient, and I 
guess I shall be obliged to go. I wish I could stay longer 
and do more.” 


no 


‘ ^CONSIDEBA TI0N8. ” 


You have no idea how much I have enjoyed having 
you comb my hair! I do not know how or when I can do 
as much- for you, but if you ever get old and sick I am sure 
some one will do as much for you, if I cannot.” 

Myrtle went to the door and told Joe she was ready. 
He drove up to the steps and lifted out a box, which he set 
just inside the door. How d'ye do, Miss Maxwell? 
Here's a box that I've had orders to set in for you.” 

Mrs. Maxwell looked inquiringly at Myrtle, but said 
nothing. Myrtle said to her: 

^nt is a few little things Mrs. Jennings and I picked 
up, and I have brought them. You may investigate when 
Mr. Maxwell comes.” 

Going up to Mrs. Maxwell, she reached out her hand, 
which was grasped by the sick woman, as she said: 

“ God only can repay you.” The tears streamed down 
her face, as Myrtle said: 

am already paid many-fold. 1 shall hope to see you 
soon again. Keep up good spirits, and remember me 
kindly to Mr. Maxwell.” 

Thank you. Good-by. Come again, if you can.” 

Myrtle and Joe drove swiftly away toward home'. In a 
short time after tl>ey left Mr. Maxwell came home. As 
soon as he was inside tiie door, he saw that some one had 
been there. He glanced round the room, and said: 

Why,, mother!” What angel has been here and left 
her finger-prints around? Oh, I know! It is Miss 
Stoney!” 

Yes; she has only been from here a few minutes; she 
was sorry you were away, and wished to be remembered to 
you. There is a box she set in as she left, and said we 
were to open it when you came. Said Mrs. Jennings 
helped her fix it. Open it, will you?” 

Mr. Maxwell opened the box after he had washed and 
rested himself a few minutes. It disclosed ji hugh loaf of 
broad, a nice cake, a pie, a large piece of beef, and one 
pound each of tea and coffee. Oh, mother! I guess 
the Lord can rain bread now, as well as in the olden 
times.” 

Yes; may He bless these dear, kind people, as He only 
(MU bless, in abundance and truth. She made the bed so 
ni'*ely, and see how she combed my hair. She is indeed 
a j:xnson- who leaves angelic prints beliind her.” 


^'CONSIDERA riONS. 


Ill 


. Thus do the pleasant days of April glide away. Myrtle 
i& more than busy with her duties at the store and house. 
Many pleasant liours do she and Stephen spend together, 
although they are busy ones. Myrtle has become thor- 
oughly initiated into the store-work, and it is becoming a 
source of joy to her, for she finds here ample opportuni- 
ties of gratifying her ambitions to relieve tlie poor and 
distressed. Man^ are tlie times that she sends from its 
door a poor customer with a marked deduction from the 
retail price, herself dropping into the money-drawer the 
deficiency from her own income. 

One day, about two weeks after her visit to the Max- 
wells, Mr. Maxwell came in with a basket of eggs and a 
few pounds of butter, atid wished to trade for necessaries. 
^yell did Myrtle know that these themselves were neces- 
saries needed in the home, to be used there as a 
means of sustenance, and in every egg could she read self- 
denial and sacrifice. 

She weighed and measured out the demands as they were 
made known to her, and upon figuring the matter found 
there was yet fifty cents due th.e firm above the value of 
the produce. 

AVhen she told Mr. Maxwell he counted out the change 
slowly but surely, and Myrtle took it and dropped it into 
the drawer. After a few friendly words* and inquiries on 
her part as to the welfare of his wife, with the blessed 
assurance that she was speedily on the gain, Mr. Max- 
well took his leave with the precious basket on his arm. 
Myrtle said, as he left theco»rnter: My compliments and 
well wishes to Mrs. Maxwell.” 

In her own good time. Old Moll landed him at the door, 
or rather, the burn; for she absolutely refused to take the 
unnecessary step of turning up to the house, and made a 
bee-line for lier stall. As Mr. Maxwell entered the door, 
he said : 

Weil, mother, my basket is heavier than when I went 
awav. There is fifty cents’ worth more goods than butter 
and eggs.” 

“I expected that,” said she. Our hens do not lay as 1 
wish they did, but 1 tliink the cows will gain now— on 
grass.” 

Mr. Maxwell began taking out the precious goods, and 
after each bundle was drawn out with reluctance — as only 


112 


•^CONSIDER A TIONS. 


the careful poor know just how to do — behold! ijv the bot- 
tom of tile basket lie found two silver dollars. One lay so 
as to boldly present to view the clever form of Liberty/^ 
and the other sweetly whispered from the depths of the 
basket, “ In God we trust.” 

“ Mother, look here! Here are two dollars in the basket. 
What does Miss Stoney mean? I am afraid it is not proper 
for us to accept so many favors from her.” 

do not know, I am sure! I hardly see how we can 
reject such tender mercy and unpretending charity as hers. 
God only knows and can only repay her. It is rare that 
one finds such humanity among that class of people.” 

“I think it is so strange that Stoney will allow his 
daughter to have a place behind the counter and do the 
work she does. Most girls in her position would have no 
ideas above sitting in the parlor.” 

** Miss Stoney is a sensible young lady, father, and of 
rare culture. This world will owe her a debt if she lives 
long in it.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Mr. Stoney is quite well pleased with Myrtle’s aid, as 
it gives him more leisure, and affords more opportunities 
to him for turning a smiling face upon the comers and 
goers, to soothe them with flatteries, as well as more time in 
which to find solace in his high-priced cigar. Stephen, 
Myrtle and Mr. Goist now carry the burden mostly them- 
selves. It also gives Mr. Stoney still more time for medita- 
tion, and his mind naturally flows in the old, well-worn chan- 
nel. Consequently every now and then he thinks and openly 
declares that he knows it is now time that ‘‘ Stoney & Son ” 
gives a treat to the select, and suggests that it be a special 
one, such as he has been accustomed to indulge in only at 
long intervals. The great ball-room is to be opened up, 
and, in addition to the other entertaining features, the 
best orchestra within reach is to be secured, and the fleet- 
footed are to participate in the dance. 

The very suggestion of all these things seems to Myrtle 
but mockery, and in talking to Stephen on the subject 
she said : 


*‘G()NSlDEnA TI0N8. 


113 


StepheiT, I cannot iiidnlge in such things, and doubt 
Very inuch if I can help make the arrangements, or in any 
way engage in it.” 

“Oh, Myrt, you know we must keep up with the times, 
and do a certain amount^ of these things, if they be fool- 
ish, in order to gain and hold our customers.” 

“ No, Stephen, we do not have to. There are many 
other ways in which we can win tlie confidence of people, 
and still do them good, to a better advantage than in this 
way. How much does such a party cost father? Do you 
know ?” 

“ Not a cent less than fifty dollars, and he is lucky if he 
gets off on that.” 

“ Well, if we should take that money and help these 
poor people who come in here day ofter day, we would be 
doing much more good, and helping to alleviate some of 
the miseiy that exists in Jenkins’ Lane. It is becoming a 
terror to me to know that such a street exists in our own 
little town. What m'ust be the condition of our great 
cities!” 

“Oh, I do not know. Things are getting in such a 
condition in this world that 1 am becoming almost afraid 
to live in it. I wish I were where mother is — in heaven.” 

“ You would not want to leave me here alone, would 
yon, Stephen?” 

“ No; but life is not much to me. I do not know any- 
thing, only to make money and save it. Father has 
educated me to this, and to this only.” 

“ Yes, you do; you know a great deal, and are such a 
comfort to me. I am going to educate you now, Ste- 
phen.” 

“ I guess you can teach me; but somehow my mind will 
not rise above cash-books, dry goods, hardware and gro- 
ceries — sailingaround in a sea of tobacco smoke, which is be- 
coming so disagreeable to me that I can hardly stay where 
it is. I long for a — dance or something to break the 
monotony.” 

“I disagree with yon here, Stephen, for you just said 
you wished you were where mamma is. So you think of 
heaven, and your mind can and does rise higher than you 
know.” 

“ Yes; to be sure I sometimes think of such a place, 
but it is so far away that Ldare not even entertain a hope 
of ever getting there.” 


114 


^^CONSWBUA TIONSr 


^^Whyno.t?” * . 

*‘0h, I don’t know; unless it is because I cannot find 
tlie way.” 

‘‘ Mother went ahead to pave tlie way, and lead you on 
in tlie right way.” 

I was so unmindful of her when she was here that I 
am afraid I shall never know her there. It was a sin in 
me, and a heavy one.” 

‘‘ There is only one unpardonable. sin and you are guilt- 
less of that, so you have only to do right and hope on.” 
do not know what right is.” 

Prove things honest in the sight of all men,’ ‘visit 
the widow and the fatherless, and keep thyself unspotted 
from the world;’ this is the chief thing we have to do.” 

“ Well, fatlier is bent on liaving-these big sprees at our 
house, and Hannah is as determined as he; so what can we 
do?” 

“ The best we can. The angels can do no better.” 

Not long after this conversation took place Myrtle was 
one afternoon walking in the front lawn and spending an 
hour or so very much as she pleased. 

If it be not the perfect day it must be the next day to it. 
The beauties of May are putting tiieir touches here and 
there. Joe’s brush is making rapid strokes over the picture, 
and no pains has he spared to paint it with the softest green, 
brightest flowers, neatest walks and daintiest fountains. 
Kough exterior though he may present by his blunt ways 
and old clothes, yet he wields the artist’s brush in this 
view of nature exquisitely, which draws out from his huge 
soul the love for the beautiful arid true which lies hidden 
there. 

Myrtle, upon this afternoon, before going into the yard, 
threw open the blinds and aside the rich window draperies, 
opened wide the great front door, and made, the piazza as 
inviting as she could by means of easy-chairs, etc. 

Siie never saw so much of beauty in worldly things as 
now, as she seats herself upon the rustic seat by the fountain 
under the stately old elm, whose very branches bow, seem- 
ingly to do her honor. As she thus sat and gazed with 
admiration upon the picture, slie felt several tears trickle 
down her cheek, responsive to tiie sympathetic throbs that 
beat in her bosom for Joe, as she noticed him a hort way 
off, with bent form, spade in hand, humbly and patiently 
performing his duty. 


'•GONSIDERA TIONS, 


115 


*^0h, how much I owe to Joe!” tliought she. Poor 
soul! He works here year in and out so well, and father 
even oppresses liim in his wages.” 

This thought opened up to her the great mass of poor, 
who are to-day, with their crooked backs, spades and 
shovels beautifying the earth, at a sacrifice in wages which 
brings them to poverty; forcing them to live in uncom- 
fortable quarters where their children seldom ever tread 
upon the green grass. One glance at Jenkins’ Lane 
servea her an actual proof of the truth of this question. 

Oh, I wish I might forever banish this dark side from 
my view, and freely and long revel in the beauties before 
me!” said she aloud, as she in almost desperation strove to 
rid herself. 1 am unable to do anything, and why 
must these things haunt me every place I go?” 

Give, and it shall be given unto you,” whispered a 
voice so small that she was scarcely sure. she heard it at all. 

Ho the best you can. The angels can do no more;” an 
echo to her words resounded in her ears. 

Long does she sit here in deep reverie, over which she 
seemed to have no control. Finally, as if awakening from 
a dream, she arose, and in a firm voi(3e said aloud: 

“I will engage in no dance, until in jubilee I see these 
people released from their bonds. ^ There is a time to 
dance,’ but it is not when children are starving in our 
midst!” 

This resolution cost Myrtle more than she thought it 
would; but it is made, and to carry it out remains a thing 
of the future. After making it she went to the house 
and found her way to the kitchen, where Phebe was 
in bread to her elbows. 

Well, Phebe, you are always at your post, aren’t you?” 

“ ^is, ma’am! I’m here yit, but there’s no tellin’ how 
long dis ol’ back ’ll stan’ it to do dis kin’ ob work. I’m 
mighty lame an’ stif’, an’ b’lieve I hah de rhumaticks ’bout 
as ba<l as your aunt. I’s awful tired. Missus Myrtle!” 

Yes, I know you are tired. I am sorry for you, 
Phebe.” 

1 g’e’s you’s de only person as be bery sorry fob me, 
or dat eber tinks ob dis ol’ black body in a bit ob mercy. 
I don’t often see much ob de wo’ld ’cept dis kitchen.” 

Phebe, would you object to telling me how much 
father pays you ?” 


116 


* ‘ CON SID ERA no NS. 


“No, ina^am; Td jest as soon teF you as not. He hab 
ahvus paid me one dollah a week tiF ^bout three yeahs 'go, 
he said I was gittiiF so ol' an’ could not do so much wo'‘k, 
so he b'gun to pay me seveutv-live cents a week. You see 
dat is not big to cover myseif with, aiF lay by 'nough to 
buy me a shroud wid." 

“No, indeed, Phebe; it is not. You hhve to work very 
hard for your money; I wish I could fix things right.” 

“ Ho,” said Phebe, laughing a sad response. “ We 
mus' wait tiF we gits to de betteli wo'ld foh dat, I guesM 
I s'pose 'tis right, I do’ know. I don’t s'pose coloM fo’ks 
need’s much as white ones do. I specs we betteh be 
thankful we be out ob slabery an’ can ea'n a cent or so ob 
free money, an’ use it as we please. But, o’. Missus 
Stoney! I don’t know as 1 shall eber see my boy ag’in, an’ 
dis is a breakin* my heart wo’se ’n the ’neadin’ob dis bre’d 
is my back.” 

“ Why, Phebe Baxter! I never heard you say you had 
a boy. Where is he?” 

“ De Lo’d only ’nows. He was soF ’way from me when 
a chiF. No, I neber toF you ’bout it. You be too young 
to re’lize de hor’ors ob dem sad, sad days.” 

“ 1 do not, of course, realize; but I have read much 
about those things and know they were dreadful.” 

“Oh, Missus Slyrtle! if 1 cou’d fin’ my boy, I don’t 
specs I’d be ’neadin’ bread here alwers. You see, dey 
chang’d der names ’s soon as dey took ’em, an’ dis don’t 
gib us no clew to ’em.” Here the tears rained down the 
black cheeks with such vehemence as to cause Myrtle to 
bury her face in her handkerchief. 

“ Dear Phebe! you have wiped the tears of grief from 
my eyes, but your tears are from a source so deep that 
only a God can wipe them away.” Kissing her on the temple 
she left the room, and going to her own she threw herself 
into her chair, so overcome with grief which only could 
find escape in tears. 

“ Phebe got an own, dear boy somewhere in this world, 
and she cannot find him! I never imagined such a thing. 
Poor soul! I never supposed she had severe troubles* and 
how remarkably does she bear up!” 

For the first time in her life does war, with its desola- 
tions and horrors, sweep its dreads across her mind; and, 
throwing herself on her knees, she plead: 


* ‘ GONSIDBUA TI0N8, ” 


117 


"Oh, GodI Deliver me from these dreads, and hasten 
the time when we shall know wars no more. What wonld 
we do should war come to us now! Would I shrink? 
Could I ever march at the head like a valiant soldier? 
‘God of peace,’ come to the rescue, and bruise Satan 
under my feet!” 

With this prayer upon her lips she rose, went to the 
window, and seating herself upon the floor at the sill, 
looked out upon the peaceful scene. 

"Truly, peace reigns here; and I can see none of the 
wrathy elements of war at hand. Will it always be thus? 
It seems as if an universal war were being raged within my 
soul. Eight and Wrong are the opponents. Which shall 
conquer?” 

Here a sweet voice whispered: "Be not overcome of 
evil, but overcome evil with good.” 

"Thank God! I see! The scales are fallen from mine 
eyes,” said she, as the gong sounded her to supper, just 
as the lingering rays of the setting sun streamed in 
through her back window, and whispered only: 

" Peace to thy soul. It is well.” 

After a hasty bathing of her face to erase the marks of 
weeping. Myrtle descended to the dining-room. All were 
at the table excepting Ralph Goist, who usually guards the 
store at this hour. After an apology for her tardiness. 
Myrtle took her place by her brother; and after a polite 
comment on the beauties of the day and proceedings in 
general, conversation drifted thus — Hannah taking the 
lead : 

" Thomas, what date have you set for the festivity of 
which you spoke a few days ago?’^ 

" About the first week in June, I think.’^ 

Myrtle well knew what "festivities” meant, so did not 
make any remarks. 

Stephen said: " To what do you refer, Hannah?” 

" Why, the party your father is to give, to be sure. I 
think the first of June will be an excellent time for it, as 
the flowers will be so profuse at that season. Are you a 
good hand at decoration. Myrtle?” turning at her at the 
time a commanding and inquiring look. 

"I love flowers and enjoy working with them,” said 
Myrtle. 

"How does that date suit yon. Myrtle ?”^said Mr. 
Stoney. 


118 


‘^GONSIDEllA TIONS: 


It makes but little difference to me/' 

Myrtle here revolved witliin herself the question: ^‘Now, 
which is best for me to do? If I rebel positively, I will 
know it means banishment to myself. As far as banish- 
ment is concerned, I can endure that; but this will deprive 
me of the privilege of doing the little good-wills I have been 
doing here in Bonville for a time past. Can I do more or 
less good in another place?" She knew, too, her father's 
disposition, and felt assured that once his anger was aroused 
it would remain so till death. 

Again, she realized that she must leave Stephen and the 
other three dear friends, and this might prove to their dis- 
advantage. Consequently she said nothing about the mat- 
ter, and as soon as she could turned the conversation to 
matters pertaining to the store and the work there, much 
to Stephen’s dismay; but she knew by this that she would 
be more sure to keep her father where she wanted him. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Myrtle went directly to her room, and locking the door 
and drawing the shades, she slipped herself into a loose 
gown; after making herself as comfortable as possible, she 
determined upon a long and thorough consideration of the 
matter at stake. 

Her lamp is lighted, and sheds its rays upon her little 
center-piece, reflecting to her dim vision her little Bible, 
hymn-book, and a few other choice books, of which she 
imploringly begged aid in her perplexity. At first she 
touched none of them, but sat pensively engrossed in 
earnest thought. She spoke aloud to lierself: '^1 have 
made the resolution, and God help me to keep it. I have 
resolved to engage in no dance; neither will I." 

Resting for a time upon this point, she said to herself: 
''Now, there is Amelia Freeman. 1 will write immediately 
to lier and see what she can do for me." 

Miss Amelia Freeman, of New York, is a niece of Mrs. 
Dr. Jennings, and the previous spri?)g she paid a visit to 
the latter; during her stay she and Myrtle had formed an 
acquaintance, which had ripened into friendship, and ever 
since they, had kept an occasional correspondence, although 
Myrtle’s cares of late had so broken in upon the same that 


'^COKSTDERA TIONSr 


■ 111 ) 


she had not fulfilled her part since her mother's sickness. 
She stationed herself at her desk and wrote the following: 

^‘Boxville, May 1, 1891. 

'"My Dear, Loxg-Neglected Friexd, Amelia: Truly 
you have been neglected by me, but I know you will say me 
perfectly excusable when I tell you that about the middle 
of last November my mother was taken very sick, and for 
over three months she was down under my immediate care. 
On March 1st death came and took her from us. 

*‘1 cannot murmur at the decrees of Providence, but, as 
you must know, my life since is a lonely one and has cast 
me away ‘at sea.’ For diversion from my loneliness, and 
to be more in company with Stephen, I have been working 
in the store for the past few weeks, but do not wish to 
make this a life work; and circumstances with us are such 
that I expect to steer my bark toward some other harbor 
and land, .if I can find a congenial employment. 

"‘ You know my capabilities, and I hereby appeal to you 
to see what you can do for me in the way of getting me a 
place in the great city. I know it would give me a 
change, and might be for my good, even though I feel 
quite sure that life in the city would not be as pleasant to 
me. But I am anxious for work; something more sub- 
stantial and profitable than my duties here at present .de- 
mand. I shall, of course, feel sad to leave my quiet home, 
but, alas! I can find no words to complete this sentence. 
1 can only hope that by going into exile I may bring about 
the best results. 

" Can you look a little for me there and conscientiously 
recommend me to an honorable place? — be it nurse, ma- 
tron, governess, teacher or anything which would open up 
to me a field in which I might comfortably maintain my- 
self, and which would be likely to broaden by faithful and 
satisfactory service, which 1 would spare no pains to 

1 Gilder. 

“ 1 have no more time for writing to-night, as I am very 
tired and it is getting late, but if you can investigate for 
me, and write the results as soon as you obtain them, 1 
will pronounce this to be principally a business letter, and 
will write you a cordial, friendly one in the near future. 
I hope to hear from you soon, and that you are well and 
prospering. Your sincere friend, 

"Myrtle Stoxey.” 


120 


•^COKSIUEUA TtONS. 


Addressing and sealing the letter, she stowed it in the 
little oesk and again fell to reflection on the past, and 
naturally did her mind peer into the future. She dreamed 
(in case this letter availed and Amelia should obtain a posi- 
tion for her) of her new work and its outcome; but as her 
thoughts come nearer home and she imagines herself taking 
her leave — perhaps forever — of this home, this cozy room, 
her dear brother, and the faithful, humble trio, and, worst 
of all, perhaps an enraged father, she almost sinks beneath 
her burden, even before it is lifted. After a long, long 
meditation, seemingly half-awake and half-asleep, she 
touched her Book, and opening to Matthew xxviii, her 
eyes rested u[)on the last verses: “Go ye, therefore, etc.; 
and lo! J am with you alway, even unto the end of the 
world. Amen.^^ 

Resting upon this broad, assuriiig consolation, she sought 
the Divine benediction upon her efforts and the sweet sleep 
which only comes to His truly beloved. Her dreams natu- 
rally were of the anxious, earnest struggles which she was 
sure she would soon be called to pass through, but over and 
in all she saw the guiding hand of Deliverance, which ever 
waved to her, even in the “sixth trouble,” and in waking 
the next morning she felt strengthened in regard to her 
resolution. 

Dressing very early, she sought the post-office, and saw 
her letter safe within the hand of “ Uncle Satn.” Return- 
ing, she saw reflected, as she glanced into the great mirror 
which stood in the hallway, a face eager and deeply flushed 
with excitement and the traces of her brisk walk resting 
thereon. 

'She went at once to the Store, knowing well that she 
would find Stephen at his books; it was even so. 

“ Good-morning, Stephen,” said she, going up and taking 
the vacant office-chair by his side. “ Casting up accounts 
this early?” 

“ Yes; I am glad you have come. I always have sort of 
a dread of this half-hour before-breakfast duty here all 
alone.” 

“ I too am glad that 1 have come. I have been out for 
a walk. Now. you figure on, and I -will look over your 
shoulder the while and see that you make no mistakes".”-- ' 

Stephen continued his figuring, and Myrtle watched for 
awhile; then she went to other parts of the store and put 


^'CONSIDERATIONS. 


121 


the necessary touches here and there to fulfill the coin- 
man>l, ‘‘Let everything be done decently and in order/' 
At length the gong sounded “breakfast," and they, re- 
garded its appeals. 

Two weeks wheeled away. Myrtle closely watched the 
mail-carrier when she realized that there had been suffi- 
cient time in which she might reasonably expect a reply 
from Amelia. 

Preparations for the “ festivities " were slowly in pro- 
gress and frequent mentions in regard to them were made. 
Myrtle avoided these as often as she could, and when she 
could not well avoid, she treated the matter as smoothly as 
possible, and so created no ripple in the calm waters. 

Hannah is all enthusiastic with her ready advice and 
suggestions, and several times gently reminded Myrtle of 
the pressing need of her being awake to the matter. 

The date, however, has not as yet been fixed, and remains 
to be set about the time when the invitations are to be 
issued. 

On Sunday, two weeks after Myrtle had sent out her. 
letter, after the family had returned from church and din- 
ner had been served, they were all sitting under the great, 
wide veranda. Joe came leisurely around the w'alk, and 
with sort of an air of independence, sat upon the floor of 
the piazza and swung his legs with considerable of grace. 
Joe has been so long in the family, and has proven himself 
of so much use to the establishment, that he very seldom 
sulfers any rejection to iiis assumed privileges of sharing 
and enjoying the beauties of the front yard upon the 
pleasant Sundays, when he appears upon the scene in 
“full dress," and indeed looks fit to adorn even the 
frontispiece of Stoney Mansion. At least, in the eyes of 
Joe Tinker, as well as any other sensible person, he is 
perfectly becoming here, and seeks to prove it by his 
actions. 

“ Well, now, Mr. Stoney, I am willin' to leave it to you 
if you ever in your life see this yard look better 'n does this 
blessed day! Don't you think this old back is worth a little 
somethin' yit? Goodness gracious! I have pulled weeds 
an' set out posies, an' picked up stun here, til', seems to 
me, there hadn't ought to be anythin' here exceptin' what 
they had a growdn' in the beautiful garden we read 'bout, 
afore that old serpent crawled over it and left its. mark, 
and p'luted everything it tetched." 


‘ ‘ CONSIDER A no NS. ” 


122 

Here Joe glanced up out of the corners of his eyes at Han- 
nah, who sat in the depths of the huge wine-colored plush 
upholstery, which she had ‘‘taken the liberty to wlrbel 
out especially to accommodate her rheumatism. Since the 
feather bed defeat s-he strives to compensate by the freest 
' use of plush, which, we feel sure, has a good elfect, judg- 
ing by the calm and peaceful countenance on this Sabbath 
afternoon, as it framed itself within the “ mourning, re- 
lieved by the radiant critiison cushions. 

*• Y'es, Joe,^^sail Mr. Stoney, “you have the yard in 
graml shape; it will be ready, and even good enough for 
the occasion.” 

“ What occasion?” said Joe. “I didn’t know there 
was goin’ to be any occasion! Who is goin’ to marry 
this time — Hanner?” 

“ No; there is to be no one married. We are preparing • 
for a June entertainment -here, such as we seldom have.” 

“ What you goin’ to do? Treat some of the poor, 
starvin’ wretches to a crust of bread, and let them see the 
inside of y’ur house for once?” • ' 

“No; we expect to have only the select of the town.” 

“Oh, ho! Well, then I s’pose Joe Tinker ’ll not be in- 
cluded this time. When be you goin’ to give us poor 
dogs a treat? We are lookin’ fur one.” 

■ Mr. Stoney smiled a soft response, and Hannah ex- 
pounded to her fullest capacity: 

“ I think they get their treat every day. A good living, 
with steady work and ready pay. They better begin to 
show a little gratitude for what they do have instead of 
whining ’round for more.” 

. “ Wiieii be you goin’ to have y’ur carousal?” said Joe. 

. Mr. Stoney has become so accustomed to Joe’s manner 
of putting things that he usually took no offense at his 
redi'Ctions, or, if he did, knew it would do no good to 
ejaculate; so he calmly and' wisely responded in clever and 
gentle tones: 

“ It is to be nothing of that kind, Joe; only a rare 
treat to the best that the firm has in stock, and a* right 
smart hop in the great room. I have engaged Mason’s 
orchestra, and have invited Trewsdal to furnish the 
greater part of the decorations — what I cannot coax Myr- 
tle to furnish.” Here Mr. Stoney cast a look at Myrtle, 
who smiled in response, and Mr, Stoney, of course, in- 


^‘GONSIDKnA TWNSr 


123 


terpreted if yes/’ "‘I think Phebe. and Pauline, with 
suggestions from Hannah and Myrtle, will be equal to the 
task of spreading the tables, with the aid of a few extra 
dishes from the bakery. Oh, we are planning it all out, 
and feel assured that it will fill the bill admirably.” 

And Joe will do to take care of the ho’ses, as usual, 1 
s’pose,” said the same. 

‘‘Yes; you will be in good demand there.” 

Stephen heard what was said, but did not seem at all 
animated by it. 

Hannah finally relieved herself once again: 

“It does aggravate me so to see such indifference on the 
part of Stephen and Myrtle in respect to this. It seems 
as if they take no iiitei-est in anything.” 

“ Well, Aunt Hannah,” said Steplien; “you run that 
store for a week and I believe you would be glad to rest 
on Sunday, instead of worrying yourself about such foolish 
things.” Stephen did not realize his cutting remarks as 
they bore on his father, who roused him to a complete 
sense of them by saying: 

“ [ run considerable of the store, and am not so com- 
pletely gone on Sunday but that I can tit least rally a little 
to light-heartedness.” 

‘‘Beg your pardon, father, 1 did not intend to cast re- 
flections upon you, or infringe upon ihe })lans yon are mak- 
ing; but ti’uly, since mother died, my mind at this hour 
is more on her than anywhere else. You know she was 
^ilways with us, and I feel so lonesome without her.” 

Here he took out his huge handkerchief and wiped the 
large drops as they fell, in a manner that would naturally 
have moved the heart of anything but flint. 

“ Oh, pshaw,” SMid Mr. Stoney. “ Why, I am becoming 
almost to forget her.” 

“I think it is just as sensible,” said Hannah, “as to 
brood and nurse the wound so long; let it heal over, is my 
doctrine. I do iiot think half so often of Edward as 1 
did, and no one but me knows that when I do I can hardly 
bear with myself.” The black border i)uts in an appear- 
ance of sympathy. 

“ I do not see how you ever bear with y’urself,” said 
Joe. “ It’s a myst’ry to me.” 

“Well,” said Mr. Stoney, “we have got to overcome 
such things, and forget them as soon as possible.” 


‘ CON BID ERA TI0N8. 


134 

' I canuot forget hiother,” said Stephen. /‘ I do not- 
see why we ought to forget her.” 

I couldn’t see as you were any more devoted to her 
when she was alive,” said Hannah, '‘than some other boys 
are to tlieir mothers. Why should you be so devoted to 
the green mound?” 

“The reason I was not more devoted is what is trou- 
bling me at present. I did not realize she was so sick, and 
was so busy that it took^my attention away from her too 
mucli. That is the saddest feature of it all.” 

“ Well, crying over spilt milk does not suffice, so they 
say,” said Hannah. 

Myrtle, unable longer to tolerate this conversation, 
rose and Went quietly to the library. She united her voice 
and piano in sweet, sacred melody, which resounded 
through the wide-open window to the veranda. Stephen, 
overcome with grief and regrets, soon followed the leading 
of the music and went to the room, where he threw him- 
self upon a divan in the remotest corner and cried like a 
child. Myrtle continued the sacred strain for awhile, 
when Hannah, di’awing her chair immediately in front of 
one of the windows, said to Myrtle: 

“Oh, Myrtle, if you are playing for my benefit, I wish 
you would change the tune a bit, and give me something 
cheering.” 

“ I am playing for no person’s benefit; only as a pastime 
and consolation to myself. Yon need not give an ear un- 
less you like.” • 

“ You are playing for me, aren’t you. Myrtle?” said 
Stephen. “Just say you are and keep on. I like that 
kind of music.” 

Myrtle turned round and acknowledged his presence 
and his request with her usual sweet smile and bow of 
“ yes,” and then continued to sing, this time picking up 
the tune: 

“ Nearer the cross 1 soon must bear, 

Nearer the crown I soon shall wear.” 

After Joe had listened long and well to the singing, he 
took out nis old time-beaten German silver watch, and ob- 
serving that the hour stood at five, he bent his steps toward 
the barn to look after the interests of Lord Chesterfield, 
whistling the while a modest echo to the last tune, as it died 


^‘GONSIDEliA TIONS:- 1^5 

away as he went. Here Hannah shoved her chair close to 
that of her brother, and said: . - 

' Thomas, do yon think it is real becoming for a man in 
yonr high position to have a servant occupy a seat in front, 
as Joe has done to-day — with the rest of the family? It 
looks out of place to me, and I believe if I were you I 
would notallow it. It detracts from the real dignity of 
all. Joe is such a rude-mannered fellow, and has not the 
least reserve about what he says. He often shocks me 
completely.” 

‘‘I suppose it is not strictly in accordance with the 
rules of society and well-established principles of culture; 
but somehow, I cannot help it. He is so hard to move, 
and assumes all these privileges, and does not even take a 
square hint when it is given; 1 hardly feel like applying 
the kick in his case.” 

Well, he will imagine he owns everything here yet, 
if you let him continue in this vvay.” 

After this sound doctrine, Haujiah realized that the air 
was becoming a bit chilly to her iheumatism; so arose and 
went slowly but surely to her private apartments for a 
doze, and to make ready for the Sunday^s lunch, which is 
always served in the paidor, individually, by means of trays. 

Mr. 8toney dozed in iiis chair between the puffs at his 
cigar, which is fast going up in smoke in the open air. 

Myrtle and Stephen go arm in arm out into the yard 
and seat themselves upon the rustic seat under the grace- 
ful bows of the weeping willow, whose limbs even dip their 
finger-tips into the sparkling waters as they fall from the 
fount. 

Stei)hen is the first to speak, after they have found 
themselves comfortably hidden from public gaze. 

“ Myrtle, it seems as if we should not see many such 
days as this together. I do not know what is the matter 
with me, but 1 feel as if there were two persons of me; 
one on this earth and the other in some far-off land, bear- 
ing with me, and striving to either carry me there or to 
come to me. What do you suppose has made such a feel- 
ing come over me of late? I am beginning to hate things 
that I used to love, and love things which I used to hate.” 

‘‘This is the best news I have heard for some time, 
Stephen. I am glad that some of the earthly frivolities 
are becoming of little moment to you. As these things 


^'CONSIDERATION 8, 


Ui) 

l}ecorne less and. less attvactive to you, heaven will eee.m 
the nearer.” 

‘MYell, what are we to do? Father is bent upon the 
spree, and I suppose we must participate; but to tell the 
truth, I cannot enter into the spirit of such things since 
mother died.” 

‘^Neither can I, nor do 1 intend to try; but I ask you 
to say nothing about it.” 

‘‘ What will you do? It will not please father to have 
you object.” 

" I do not know what I shall do, but I have vowed a 
vow and intend to adhere to it.” 

The gong calls them to lunch, after which both go im- 
mediately to their respective rooms for rest, and give them- 
selves up to thoughtful meditation. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Next day, as Myrtle went to her room from the store, she 
found the expected missive upon the sill. It contained 
the followijig: 

James Avenue, 

‘‘ Glendale, N. Y., May 10, 1891. 

“ My Dear Friend, Myrtle Stoney: You cannot 
imagine how glad I vvas to hear from you once more, but 
very sorry indeed to learn of your mother^s death. I know 
very little about the real truth of such bereavements, as I 
have never yet been called upon to pass through them. 

“I, as well as you, will make this a business letter, and 
proceed at once to the same. 

‘‘As soon as I read your letter I resolved to do all I 
could for you, and spent as much time looking as I could 
spare. I visited several families that I knew were accus- 
tomed to hire private teachers and governesses, but in this 
direction received but little encouragement. They all 
seemed to be supplied. I next went to three different hos- 
}>ital8, and, as they say, ‘the thii'd is the charm," I found 
in the last this kind of a place: 


''CONSIDERA TIONS. 


127 ■ 


It is sort of a private hospital for the cafe of sick chil- 
dren and girls. They will pay a well-experienced and pro- 
ficient nurse twenty dollars per month, witli board 
and room; but, however, she must come with satisfactory 
evidence, by way of recommendations, etc., to assure them 
of her qualifications. 

“ Or they will give you the chance to work into the busi- 
ness in this way: 

You must give your time for at least eight weeks and 
prove yourself competent at the end of the time to carry on 
the work of regular nurse. They will board and room you 
during the eight weeks, and if at the expiration of this 
period you are qualified they will pay you the regular 
wages. 

It is a nice place and the proprietors reliable, and real 
faithful help seems quite hard to secure; so I have con- 
fidence that you would have no trouble in holdiiig the 
place. 

“ I told them of your constant care of your mother, and 
said all I could in your favor. You better write to them 
at once. Any time you conclude to come to the city, just 
let me know and I will gladly welcome you into my home> 
and a long visit from you will be enjoyable. 

I hope to hear from you soon, and to see you in New 
York. 

“AVith love and sympathy for you in your trouble, I 
arn, as ever, your true friend, 

‘‘Amelia Freeman.’’ 

“ P. S. — I send you the proprietor’s card and address.” 

As soon as this letter was read, Myrtle wrote the follow- 
ing to the hospital, making a direct application for the 
place: 

“ Bonville, May 13, 1891. 

“ Mr. E. Jayson White: Having received directions, 
according to my request, through Miss Amelia Freeman, to 
your hospital, I take the liberty of addressing you, to make 
inquiries in regard to obtaining a })osition as nurse. 

“ I would like the chance of giving you the eight weeks 
.of service for board and room, and would hope and strive 
to maintain the position after that on the twenty dollars 
per month salary. I have had some little expeiience in the 


128 


^^COmiDERA TIONS. 


line of work, and feel quite sure I could please you. I 
hope to hear from you soon. 

‘‘ Yours truly, 

“Myrtle 

This she directed to “ Mr. E. Jayson White, Proprietor 
Woodland Hospital, Adelaide Street, New York, and care- 
fully conveyed it to the post-box, returning just in time for 
dinner. 

With it she dropped a note to Miss Freeman, saying: 

“You may expect me in New York. I will write you 
later, as I have not yet decided just when I shall come.^'’ 

It may be considered strange that Myrtle should take 
these extravagant steps without first hearing even what 
her father might have to say in regard to her opposition t@ 
his plans, but not so to her. She well knew her father, and 
knew too that to stick by her vow would necessitate her 
“'going out;” so she thought best to be ready for the emer- 
gency and meet it as masterly as she could. 

Two days later her father beckoned her into the parlor 
and informed her that he expected her to do the inviting, 
and in short act as head-manager. “ Of course,” said he, 
“ Hannah can help a great deal, but it is your place to take 
the lead.” 

“ Well, father, I have resolved that 1 cannot engage in 
the dance, nor can I partake of the wines at table, and it 
is not proper for me to invite people here to such an enter- 
tainment and then not indulge myself.” 

“ Myrtle, do I understand you to say this is a serious fact 
with you, or are you joking?” 

“I never said anything with a more serious mind than I 
say this.” 

“Is this the cause of your indifference to the matter of 
late? Have you intended to carry out this principle from 
the start?” 

“ I have.” 

“ What are your reasons for this rebellion?” 

“ I have already told you. I do not enter into such 
things since mamma died, because I cannot. Again, when 
I see so many poor suffering right here around me for the 
comforts of life, I think it is positively wrong to spend 


‘ ‘ CONSID tJil A 


1;>0 

money and time in revelry. Again, neither my health nor 
yours will bear it. We will soon go as mamma did, if we 
continue in this debauchery. Are there any more or better 
reasons I could give you?'^ 

‘‘ Now, Myrtle, you are not only rebellious against my 
wishes and best welfare, but you are making yourself a 
subject of ridicule by taking such a stand; and — are work- 
ing considerably — against — your own interests.^*' 

As he said this he gave her a look which she well knew 
meant business; and as it first struck her it made a tremor 
of fear and dread pass over her whole soul and body. But 
in a short time, collecting herself, she proceeded: 

“ Well, father, I have fully decided that such things are 
wrong, and of no possible good to us or those whom we 
might invite, and they are detrimental to our health. I 
am willing to spend energy, time and money doing good in 
the world, but I have never yet discovered any good as re- 
sulting from these entertainments. If you vvouhl spend 
as much money relieving the wants of the oppressed, it 
would be for a good cause, and 1 would be willing to help 
all I could. 

Yes, there is good to be derived from such things, too. 
We win the favor of people, and no doubt win much 
more trade by thus getting their esteem."’ 

Father, from which source do you receive the most 
trade; from the first-class, or select, as you call them, or 
from the common poor people of the town and surround- 
ing country? Now answer this question fairly.” 

Well — I — am sure — we — get — fully as much — or more, 
from the former.” 

“ No, father, since I have been in the store 1 have taken 
particular pains to note this feature, and am ready to stake 
upon it that the lower class furnish you three dollars’ worth 
of trade to every two dollars’ worth from the other class. 
We are more under obligations to Jenkins’ Lane than we 
are to Main Street.” 

^'Myrtle, you always seem to take delight in being odd 
from any one else, and seek out these fogies and harbor 
them against any and everything sensible. Now, once for 
all, I tell you that this project is to be carried out, just as 
presci-ibed, and I will give you ample time in which to con- 
form yourself to my plan. 1 am quite competent, as yet, 
to conduct my business in a manner satisfactory to 


130 


^%VN8IDERA T10N8. 


myself, and you may attribute all you have to-day to my 
determination to row my own boat, regardless of all oppo- 
sition and drawbacks/^ 

Saying this, he rose, took his hat, and as he reached the 
parlor door, bowed an emphasis upon this determination 
wliich there was no denying. 

On the evening of this same day Myrtle called Stephen 
into her own private room, that their conversation might 
be wholly uninterrupted, and confidentially disclosed to 
him the circumstances, and her plans for going to New 
York. At first he said he thought her very foolish to be 
so set in ber way, and wished, for his sake, she would 
abandon it. But by a careful and plain explanation she 
seemed to half-persuade him that she was in the right; at 
least, he became in a measure reconciled to it. 

shall be very lonely. Myrtle, and how I ever shall 
endure it I cannot tell; but if you can endure, away off 
there alone among strangers, I ought surely to bear my 
part.” 

Yes; we will bear it all. It is only for right and good 
that I do it. Father and I are never harmonious as re- 
gards our opinions, and it is best that we dissolve. You 
and he have always seemed more congenial.” 

“ We are congenial only because 1 do all of the hard 
work and submit to all his foolish notions; this is the 
secret of it.” 

Myrtle smiled faintly. Well, we will do the best we 
can. Now, I want my leave-taking to be of a kind nature 
and all peaceful, so if father gets a little or much wrought 
up, let us bear it all gracefully, and not have hard words. 
But, Stephen, I have a little advice to give you, and it is 
this: I want you, as soon as possible, to get into your own 
hands and name your share of the stock. If you know 
how much money is coming to you for your share of the 
income turn it into stock and own it; keep strict account 
of all you have. 1 say this for your own good.” 

^^I have been thinking seriously of this of late myself, 
and have made up my mind to get things in this shape. 
AVhen are you going to leave?” 

“ I shall go as soon as I hear from there and can make 
the necessary arrangements.” 

Are you going to tell father about it?” 

“ Yes; the next time he speaks to me on the subject I 
shall tell him I am going.” 


^^GONSIDKUA Iloysr 


131 


“ ell, peace go with you and a portion stay with me, 
is my prayer. I must go to bed; good-night.”" 

After Stephen left her Myrtle was too full of thought to 
sleep; long did she sit by tlie little table revolving in her 
mind the condition of affairs. 

Finally, almost unconsciously, she begai] going about tiie 
room, and took little items fi’oni their habitual steads, and 
carefully stowed them in the corners of her huge trunk. 
Wiien slie awoke to the full sense of the fact that she was 
packing up to leave — undoubtedly forever — this dear room 
and her dead mothers even dearer one; a brother, and the 
dear friends in the rear of the house — how would they take 
it when she tells them?— the tears began to flow with such 
rapidity as to impede the progiess of her work, and she 
found herself unable to go on with it. Finally she said 
to herself: It is time I was in bed anyway; I must rest.” 

Seeking her pillow, she buried her trouble us deeply in 
its depths as possible and slept. 

For the next three or four days she performed her du- 
ties at store and house witli the same regularity and exact- 
ness, and no allusion wuis made to her by her father of tlie 
coming event. 

Hannah several times introduced the subject to her, but 
receiving no consolation or encouragement she gave it up 
in despair, judging from the look which she carried on her 
countenance, and the occasional broad hints that she is 
])rone to throw at Myrtle, that ^‘It is a shame to treat 
things with such indifference, especially since ddiornas 
takes so much comfort in them.” 

In due time the postman delivers the letter: 

‘MVoodland Hospital, New York, May 17, '91. 

Miss Myrtle Stoke y: Yours received. We have 
considered its application, and conclude to give you the 
vacancy in one of our best wards. 

Will engage you upon the conditions already stated in 
your letter, as you understand them correctly. Hope you 
"will oblige by coming to take up the charge as soon as 
possible. Yours respectfully, 

Jaysok White.” 

Well, I am ready now forthe crisis,” said she. ‘‘ I know 
Joe or Stephen will lend me enough money to make up 


132 


^'CONSIDER A TJONS. 


the deficiency and to get me there.” But, to make sure of 
it, she went directly to Stephen and told him of her letter 
and its purport, and asked him if he could lend her twenty 
dollars, as she had not quite enough to venture out. 

^MVhy, my dear child I I calculated to give you fifty 
dollars if you had not asked for it. Yes: I am willing 
to help you all I can.” 

After the family had completed one more week’s work, 
late Saturday night Mr. Stoney called Myrtle into the 
parlor. Well did she know what was to come; and with 
some dread, yet with a fixed determination ,of what right 
principles were, and a realizing sense of the necessity of 
carrying them into execution, she found strength to fol- 
low on.” After seating himself in the most comfortable 
chair, and establishing himself in such a way as to give the 
most possible importance to his worthy self, he resumed: 

Well, Myrtle, have you by this time made up your 
mind to act well your part as my hostess; and are you 
ready to fulfill those obligations of which I spoke to you a 
few days ago?” 

“ To what do you refer, father? Do I not carefully and 
well fulfill my duties every day as hostess of the house?” 

Yes; thus far I must say you have done remarkably 
well, and you have exceeded my expectations. But to 
what I now have reference is the June festivities. Are 
you ready to have the invitations go out in your name, and 
stand in ypur place?” 

“ I have no different ideas on this subject than I had at 
our last consultation; I can look at the matter in no other 
way.” 

“ Then you are willing to receive your discharge, are 
you? I must have some one at the head of my house who 
will perform these light tasks. If you will not do it 1 
must get some one else.” 

As he aimed these remarks at her his voice trembled 
with earnestness, and Myrtle was sure she could detect 
even an accent of wrath now and then. 

What have you to say?” 

‘‘I have this much to say, father: I am very sorry that 
for the sake of your wife, my mother, we cannot bring our 
ideas and opinions as regards right and wroi'g to a level, 
and reconcile ourselves. But, as it is with me a matter of 
conscience, I must only say that I cannot become recon- 


^^CONSTDEEA TTONS. 


133 


ciled to tliat which is wrong, so it is best that we dissolve; 
not in anger, but I will peacefully withdraw and go out, 
and stay until either you or I become convinced that we 
are in the wrong — as one of us must be. I have concluded 
to go to New York.'’^ 

“To New York! For mercy^s sake, what do you expect 
to do in New York?’^ said he, with a roar of laughter. 
“ You will make a big impressjon upon the metropolis, 
going there with your eccentricities. People there won’t 
look at yon. It is a very fashionable place.” 

“ I am not going there to make impressions or meddle 
with fashionable people. I am going there to work.” 

“Work! Where? in somebody’s kitchen as cook? or 
as a maid in somebody’s chamber? or where do you expect 
to turn in your heart and hand? You will find it rather 
difficult getting work in such a place as that with no one 
to recommend you.” * 

“I am already recommended, and have my place. I 
believe there are always places for willing hearts and 
ready hands in this world.” 

x\ place! You do not mean to say you have already 
made your arrangements to leave.” 

“ W*s, father; 1 knew your mind in respect to these 
things, and of course knew my own; so thought it my 
privilege to see what could be done. I got track of a place 
and engaged it.” 

“Well, Myrtle, this is rather poor pay for all I have 
done for you to make life easy and pleasant. It is not 
treating me with due respect.” 

“ Father, you have done much for me and I appreciate 
all your motives; you must not think that it will not cost 
me a pang of sorrow to leave you now. It will be a 
funeral day to me, next to the one which occurred the third 
of March; it is only because I consider it my duty that I 
go out. You have your sister here. She needs a home, 
and no doubt she will to a great extent fill my place.” 

“ Into what kind of a place are you going? if you do not 
object to telling me — your father.” 

“ No, by no means; you remember Amelia Freeman and 
I became good friends while she was here. She is one of 
the best of girls. We have corresponded since she left 
and she got the place for me. It is the position of nurse 
in the Woodland Hospital, for the care of sick children 
and girls.” 


134 


^‘COXSTDFAiA TI0N8. 


What wages do you expect to get?’' 

To this inquiry Myrtle was a little reluctaut about reply- 
ing, but ill a short time she told him the conditions upon 
which she was to go. Mr. Stoiiey, without saying a word 
more, rose very stillly, took his hat, and simply bowing 
his good-night,’’ left the room. 

Myrtle sat for awhile among the books, and after a gentle 
touch or so upon her piano went to her own room. 

Early on Monday morning she sent a letter to Amelia, 
stating tliat one week from the day in question she ex- 
pected to start for New York. 

On this same Monday morning Mr. Stoney sent to the 
printer for about forty invitations — in the name of 
•‘Thomas Stoney ’’ only — to the evening’s entertainment 
which he was pleased to offer to bis respected friends of 
Bonville on June 10th. 

The week following was a very Busy one to Myrtle, as 
she still kept her place in the store, and discharged the 
usual duties of the house. In the meantime she packed 
her clothes and made ready for the trip. Several times 
she spent long and sacred moments in her mother’s room, 
looking at the clothing which she was wont to wear, 
and all the little articles which she (now gone) deemed so 
precious. 

“Oh, liow can 1 leave these to rough hands — especially 
to Hannah’s I” 

No one but Myrtle Stoney ever knew what it cost her to 
leave these things unmoved. She felt at times that she 
must turn the key and put it in her bosom. However, in 
the spirit of right slie overcame this, with other obstacles, 
as only the true heart, with the grand and holy purpose of 
right beating vengeance within, can overcome. 

About the saddest phase she met was the making known 
of her plans to the “ faithful trio.” 

This was done one evening as she found them in the 
kitchen. 

“Oh, for the dear land’s sake! what’l ever become on us 
is more'n I can tell,” said Joe. “ It don’t seem like I can 
ever live a minute longer.” 

Phebe said she hadn’t long to live and she knew it. This 
was the only hope she had, for in dying she might meet her 
boy, who, she hoped, had long been in heaven. 

It was in tears that Myrtle left them in their captive 


*‘GONSIDEHA TTONS” 135 

corner, awaiting only the glorious liberty which they looked 
for in death, and sought her own room. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

After having decided to leave Bonville, Myrtle did not 
go out any, except to run over to the doctor’s one day to 
take Mrs. Jennings into confidence and tell her of her 
plans with Amelia. 

“ We are sorry to lose you, Miss Stouey,”said Mrs. Jen- 
nings, as Myrtle was about to take her leave; ‘‘but if it is 
best that you go we wish you Godspeed. You will have 
fast friends in Amelia and her mother, and such as will . 
prove it by tiieir conduct. You must let us hear from ycu 
often, and keep us informed as to your health and pros- 
perities. ’AVe hope there may be few adversities, but trust 
that you are able to cope with them as they come.” 

Hannah was the last to find out the truth of Myrtle’s 
exit, and these facts she gathered from the words which 
she heard dropped fiom different quarters. She finally 
substantiated this fact by abruptly putting the quesfcion 
point-blank to Myrtle herself, determined in this affair to 
go directly to headquarters. 

On her way to her room, the day after Myrtle had made 
known her plans to the family, Hannah tapped at Myrtle’s ^ 
door, and after hearing the gentle “come in,” she did go 
in, and proceeded at once to business. 

“ i\Iyrtle, what is it I hear from the servants and the 
other members of the house? Are you going to leave us? 

I have picked up this idea from the little fragments as 
they have been dropped in my way, but have heard nothing 
certain, so thought I would come right to you yourself and 
find out.” 

“Yes, ma’am; I am going to Xew York next Mon- 
day.” 

“What are you going to do there? Do you expect to 
find any better place than you have here, or easier times? 
Or has your father turned you off?” 

“Xeither; I expect to go there to take up work for my- 
self and have a change. 1 have turned myself off.” 

“ AVell, I have seen people get the big-iiead before, and 


130 


‘ ‘ CO NISID ERA TIONS. ” 


think they are going to find more room for it and a better 
place in which to lay it without the father’s house, but I 
notice that in due time tliey nearly all come crawling back 
to the old nest, quite well convinced that what father told 
them is the truth. Oh, the big-head is a thing which only 
lasts a short time, after the victim is once out in the world 
with it. However, I did think you had really got past the 
age for that, but it appears not.” 

No, I have not. My head has been getting larger for 
quite awhile, and there seems to be no antidote except the 
one of which yon speak. I must go out.” 

Myrtle said this with fully as much sarcasm as her aunt 
said her sajq so felt even with her. Here Hannah endeav- 
ored to assume a clever, inquiring voice, and asked: 

What do you expect to do in the city?” 

I expect to work in a hospital.” 

Have you got a place?” 

Yes, ma’am.” 

‘‘How did you get it?” 

“Through a friend I have there?” 

“Is it a paying place?” 

“ Oh, it will pay me enough so that I can live comfort- 
ably when I get started.” 

“Are you sure of what you are to get? Some of these 
places are not reliable.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

^ “ What will your father do? I am not able to do much. 

My rheumatism has been much worse of late.” 

“ I do not know. The best he can, I suppose; or, this 
is what I hope he will do.” 

“Well, I must say it. I have seen ingratitude person- 
ated in many forms, but never saw it carried with such 
boldness before. You will live to repent of all this.” 

“ Thank you.” 

Hannah, failing in her endeavor to enter into a discus- 
sion with Myrtle, or in getting any real consolation from 
her, took her leave. After she was gone Myrtle felt a bit 
remorseful, but she said to herself: “It is the only way one 
can handle her. If one begins to tell her, there, is no end 
of speaking, so I have done the best I could.” 

The hours fly by too swiftly for Myrtle and Stephen, 
who contrive to spend as many in each other’s company as 
is possible. 


‘ ‘ CONST]) Ell A TIONS. ” 


137 


The Siuiihi}^ previous to her leaving neither went to 
cliurch, but spent the day in visit and serious talks in the 
beautiful yard. 

Since Mr. Stoney^s last interview with Myrtle, his con- 
duct toward her has been indifferent in the extreme; the 
more importantly iloes he swing himself, pick his teeth, or, 
with iiis cigar calmly resting between his first and second 
fingers, even greater dignity does he assume, as he putt's 
out the rings of sweet-scented smoke. He says little to 
her about her plans, and when he does refer to her going 
away, he does not fail to give iier to understand thor- 
oughly what she may expect in consequence, as far as he is 
concerned. 

Stephen assures her in their last long interview, that he 
expects soon to get matters fixed with liis father, securing 
him in his share of the store, but thinks it best to wait 
until the present excitement is over, and a more favor- 
able opportunity of attacking him. Stephen is aware that 
his father must be most carefully dealt with. 

Late in the afternoon all congregate as usual upon the 
piazza, and Joe does not fail to fill his place, and make his 
j)resence felt. He is the first to take the lead in conversa- 
tion: 

‘‘ Well, Myrtle, I s’pose this is the last Sunday you will 
spend hong with us for some time?’^ at the same time look- 
ing at her; and she could not fail to see the slight quiver 
of his lip, and the moisture that overspread his bright 
eyes. 

Yes, I suppose it is,’^ said she, trying to suppress the 
tears which made their way into her own. 

Don't you worry. Wehl soon see her back,’’ said 
Hannah. ‘M’ve seen girls leave home before, and they 
are sometimes real glad to get back again — if they can.” 
The last was said with an unusual amount of sarcasm, and 
with two small black eyes })laced fixedly upon her victim. 

Myrtle made no re[)ly. Tiie father seemed to be in an 
exceptionally high degree of good iiiimor this afternoon, 
whistling by spells, and smoked at least one extra cigar. 
Finally he said: 

At what time, by the clock, do you expect to leave in 
the morning, ^ Myrt 

‘‘At nim^ I lake the train here.” 

“ Have you agreed witli the hack man to get your trunk 
over':"” 


138 


‘ ‘ CONSIDERA TlONSr 


Yes, and Stephen is going to take me to the train. 
you do not start earlier than that there will be 
plenty of time for us to bid yon ‘ good-by Mn the morn- 
ing, I suppose/^ 

“ I presume so,^^ said Myrtle. 

Stephen, will you and Chesterfield take me for a short 
drive after lunch?’'’ This was whispered to Stephen by 
Myrtle, who followed him as he strolled to the remote end 
of the piazza, as if tliere he hoped to rid himself of 
sadness. 

Yes; where do you want to go?’" 
wish to drive to the cemetery.^'’ 

Stephen had no reason to ask why, for he already knew. 
It was to pay one more visit to the sacred mound, and it 
was some consolation to him to do the same. So immedi- 
ately after lunch he beckoned Joe to the stable, where he 
assisted him in hitching Chesterfield to the pliaeton. 

As he drove up to the door there was no one in sight, so 
they went away without being questioned. The drive to 
the ^‘'city of the dead ’’ was a silent one, as neither scarcely 
spoke. When they reached it they tied Chesterfield with- 
out the walls, and walked to the spot. 

Myrtle knelt upon the gray knoll and softly arranged 
the floral tribute whicli she liad brought. Stephen could 
do nothing but weep away his grief, and this he did freely 
and long, as if he were only a babe in his mother’s arms. 

“ Oh, Myrtle, I do not see liow I am going to stand it 
when 'you are gone. It seems as if we were only getting 
ready for another funeral to-rnorrovv.” 

‘‘No, I am alive and well. I will write you often, and 
you can come to New York and visit me after you get 
things well fixed here, and get a new man initiated into my 
place in the store.” 

“ There is no man in the State that would do the work 
as well as you have.” 

“Thank you for the compliment.” 

This conversation took place as the couple were on their 
way home and safely out of the burying-ground; the time 
spent there \vas too sacred for anything save silence and 
meditation. 

Arriving home they both went directly to their rooms, 
Myrtle had everything in readiness for the morrow, and 
realized that she needed a night of sound sleep above 
everything else prior to her trip. 


‘ ‘ CONSIDERA TIO NS. ” 


139 


She arose very early the next, morning, and dressing in 
a neat, plain navy-blue traveling suit, first sought the 
kitchen. She found Phebe there at her duties, and as she 
lifted her eyes at ^iyrtle and saw that she was dressed for 
traveling she broke entirely down, and seating herself in 
the Jiearest chair drew Myrtle into !;er lap and cried as if 
her soul were emptying its briny contents. 

Very soon Pauline came in; then in a short time Joe. A 
tearful, sad time indeed it was that the four spent while it 
lasted. 

Joe was too far down in the depths of grief to speak, and 
only moaned out his heartfelt words. At last Myrtle broke 
away from the huge embraces of Phebe, and aftei* taking 
each by the hand and laying a tender kiss upon the brow 
of each left them in tears and sought the fresh air to rub 
out the marks of distress upon her own brow. 

When the call for breakfast was made she took her place 
with perfect composure by the side of her brother. Mr. 
Stoney had some very important business at the store, so 
could not join them. Hannah was there, but took no notice 
(apparently) of proceedings. After they were througli 
Myrtle went to the parlor to give the final touch to her 
piano and friendly books. Noting that all was in good 
order she then went to her mother^s room. 

Laying her hands upon a few of the most precious'pieces 
there, as if in benediction, she left them with a sigh which 
none ever knew save she who gave it. 

Too soon does the hour roll along which is to bear her 
away. As she sees the hackman load the trunk into the 
wagon she is painfully reminded that the time for her de- 
parture is at hand. 

Going to her own room, she puts on a dainty jacket and cap 
to match the blue, and, kneeling by the side of her bed, 
once again implores Divine su])port and guidance in her 
great undertaking. 

As she comes down the stairs she meets Hannah in the 
hall: 

‘‘ Well, well! 1 do really wonder if this means go?’’ 

“ I guess it does. Good-by, Hannah. Take as good care 
of father and Stephen as you can,” said she; reaching out 
her hand. 

guess it will be the other way; they will have to hike 
care of me. My rlieumatism seems to get worse eveiy day. 


140 


^‘CONSIDEHA TIONISA 


Good-by. Now see if you don’t live to see your aunt's 
propliecy fulfilled. Ob, I have lived longer than you have, 
Myrtle, and know how these things always turn out.” 

As Myrtle glances out at the farther door, she sees that 
Lord Ohesterfleld is already there. As she arrives at th-o 
door she also sees her father standing by the carriage. 

Myrtle, we a^re all sorry for you/’ said he; “but they 
say bought wit is the best, if one don’t buy it too dear. 
AVe are in hopes you may make the valuable purchase, and at 
an exceedingly low price.” 

She gave him her hand and reached up into his face and 
rested a loving kiss on his cheek. 

“ Good- b}^, papa. AVrite to me. I hope Mt is well,’ 
even as mamma said it to be as she left us.” Here her 
voice trembled, as almost to choke back her words. 

As she is carefully helped into the carriage by her 
brother she looked back as far as the rear porch, and there 
stood Phebe, Pauline and Joe. The first had a hugh red 
handkerchief to her eyes, which she was deluging with tears; 
the second was endeavoring to catch hers in her large 
white linen one; while Joe made no pretensions at catch- 
ing his in his mammoth blue-and-wliite spotted ’kerchief, 
but held it in his hand and just let them rain down to the 
ground. As they saw Myrtle look at them in moving off, 
they all three simultaneously waved them over tlieir 
hejids. 

She beholds in it the red, white and blue,” significant of 
tlie glorious liberty for which she is now going out — not even 
the stars being wanting; but they are brilliantly displayed 
from Joe’s baimer in the form of dots. 

She waves a gentle hand to them in response, and once 
more she smiles her cheerful benediction upon her father, 
and is gone. 

“Go forth! young' soldier of the cross; 

The battle hour is nigh. 

And ye have hound the armor on, 

To live for (’lirist. or die.” 


On the way to the depot Stephen was so engrossed in 
sorrow that he said but little. After arriving he went to 
the ticket office and bought Alyrtle’s ticket to the first im- 
portant stop, or exchange, and haiuled it to her, with thirty 
dollars beside. 


‘ ‘ CON SID ERA TIONS. ” 


141 


^^Take this: and if you are in need hereafter, let me 
know.” 

Thank you, Stephen; I hope to repay you some time; 
I hope it will not be iong/^ 

‘‘I guess I have already had my pay.” 

Stephen was too overcome to say much, but as they 
stood by the window watching for the appearance of the 
locomotive which was so soon to bear Myrtle away, he 
looked down upon her and said: 

Why, Myrtle; ‘all you need now is the brass buttons to 
make a genuine soldier of you.” 

• feel as* if I were a soldier even without them. I 
think we are all soldiers in the warfare of life. 

“ ‘ This life is a warfare; a warfare with sin! 

With Satan and his angels, and all their wicked train; 

And he who would a soldier be, to battle for the Lord, 

Must buckle on the armor — the spirit and the word.’ 

Oh, Stephen; I could not leave you now, if I did not 
leave you in the hands of the Blessed Master. 1 know my 
prayers for you will not be in vain. Promise me that yon 
will be a good child, and write often to your sister.” 

As she thus spoke she raised her face to his and threw 
her arms around his neck, and Just as she implanted the 
kiss upon his cheek the low rumblings of the incoming 
train were heard. 

For a minute they mingled their tears, but the train 
rolled up, and Stephen bore his charge to a comfortable 
seat in the car. He kissed her a long ‘‘good-by” and was 
gone. 

As she looked out at the window after him, it well nigh 
broke her heart as she saw him leatiing against the side of 
the depot, with his face buried in his handkerchief, as if 
his grief were sufficient to drag him down had he not found 
a support. 

As the train moved otf he raised his eyes and saw once 
more the pale face of his sister, and her hand as she gently 
waved it from the wimlow. Ever after, whenever he thought 
of her, it was tliat wave of the hand that he saw. A^es; that 
alone would be sufficient to keej) him in the right road. 

Oh, how much significance is attached to every gesture 
we make! i^ot even the wave of a hand can be set at 


14 '^ • •^ considerations :' 

naught. It either beckons others upward and homeward 
or draws them downward into snares and pitfalls, hence to 
destruction. Not this side of heaven will we ever know 
the influence of the waves t)f our hands. 

Myrtle's train swiftly bears her away from home and to 
her destination, and for a time we will follow her. Stephen 
goes back to his lonely, deserted, grand home, where, for 
the present, we leave him at his post of duty. 

As she flies through the near and familiar fields not far 
out from Bonville she does not realize her loneliness in full, 
but when she rushes upon foreign and strange scenes all at 
once she is seized with an almost unbearable’sa<lne8s. As 
she glances out upon these strange lands and into the 
still more strange faces within, she murmurs to herself; 

Truly— 

“ Alone! far away from friends most dear; 

With nothing but sorrow, forebodings and fear, 

We can but look upward and cry for aid 

From the hand of Justice, who firmly hath said: 

‘ It is a fearful thing you know, to fall 
Into the hands of the God of all.’ ” 

It is needless to dwell further upon Myrtle's state of 
mind as she thus glides into exile. None but those in 
like circumstances can realize the solemn dread — solemn, 
because of the sacred truth which enthuses and spurs us 
on; dread, because of the unveiled, uncertain future into 
which we are plunging — alone. 

After the first twenty miles out are gone over, the few 
faces which bear the least sign of familiarity disappear, and 
it is at this point that she does ‘Mook up" with unlimited 
faith and trust. 

As the shades of evening close in upon her she is landed 
at the great union depot of exchange. 

She secures her ticket to New York City and seeks a re- 
mote corner to await the cry: 

All aboard for New York! Sleeper made up." 

She hastens along in the human surge and takes her 
place in the sleeper. Glad is she to be so free and secure 
from the mass, and still more glad when she sees her berth 
comfortably matle up, and finds herself stowed away with- 
in its quiet folds. 

As she looks out upon the dark world from the narrow 


^‘CONSIDERATIONS. 


J43 


window, made even more dark and desolate by a dashing 
wind and I’ain, as it beats angrily against the glass, slio 
weeps bitterly as she repeats: 

“ Something drives us away at sea, 

And keeps us there, though turbid it be.” 

Being very much exhausted with the day^s excitement 
and cares, she soon falls asleep. But very often is slie 
awakened by the stops, and the rougii clatter of cars with- 
out; the swinging of lanterns and shouts of the men as they 
give and receive signals. Although these are by no means 
rude in the extreme, yet it is such a contrast from the 
sweet quiet of her own room at home, that she almost 
quails, as she draws nearer and nearer the great city, and is 
being ushered into its noisy depths. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

As THE gentle rays of the morning’^ light break in at 
lier window through the spasmodic dashes of rain. Myrtle 
rose in her berth and resolved to get as much of the view 
as she could. Swiftly is she borne along the banks of the 
beautiful Hudson; now in, now out of a tunnel; now round 
a soft bend in the mountains. Parting the curtains and 
glancing through the window of an unoccu})ied berth acioss 
she sees the bold form of old Rip- Van-Winkle aslee]) upon 
his broad bed of horizon. The varied scenei’y serves as a 
mild divei-sion to her distracted mind, and as the sun con- 
tinues his march up from the east the rain ceases, and 
brighter and fresher do the mountain sides rise up before 
her sight across the rivei', dotted by their many beautiful 
mansions. It sweetly resembles the piiqure which she has 
})ainted in her mind of the beautiful liome over there,’^ 
just across the river. 

“ Oh,^^ said she, ‘^but I fear the River Joi'dan is a 
I’ougher one than tlie gentle Hudson whicli I seel’^ 

She clung as long as possible to her cozy, secluded bed; 
but when she heard the porter nearing her quarters she 


144 


CO NSW EC A TIO NS. ’ ’ 


made the careful toilet which she was always accustomed 
to do; then she tried to eat the dry bite of breakfast which 
still remains of dear Phebe^s careful preparation. 

It was somewhat difficult to relish, but with eyes upon 
the beautiful hills she manages to choke down enough to 
maintain the little strength she has. 

After a few haurs of })iea.sant riding along the shore the 
train pulls up to the New York landing-place. Myrtle, 
upon descending the steps, finds Amelia Freeman there to 
meet her. 

‘^Now, Myrtle,’^ said Amelia, ‘‘I have been to the hos- 
pital and negotiated with the proprietor, and obtained a 
permit that you go with me to my home and spend to-day 
and to-morrow in resting. You will need that long a time 
to get rested from your trip and get ready for your work. 
I told him I would bring you over there to-morrow night, 
if he would consent to my plans. I want you to become 
acquainted with my father and mother, and also with me.” 

Here Amelia, without even the consent of Myrtle, took 
her arm and led her to the car, after seeing her trunk 
safely on the dray wagon. 

It seems so good to see you once more. Myrtle, and 
you are looking much better than I expected to see you. 
Now I assure you I cannot take you to a home as elegant 
as the one you have left. You know we are only in ordi- 
nary circumstances, and father is obliged to work hard, so 
we try to live plainly, but comfortably, so as to lighten his 
Joad.” 

"" That is the way to do, Amelia. I know I shall enjoy 
your cordiality. I am sure you have a happy home, and 
that is the most important thing.” 

Mr. Freeman is a retail grocer in the little suburb of 
Glendale. He has a mall family, consisting of wife, 
Amelia, and one little child about five years old. He owns 
the cozy house and lot where he lives, and truly it is, as 
Myrtle prophesied, a happy home. 

As the girls went chattering up the narrow walk and 
into the house. Myrtle felt as if she had already been 
snatched from the lone world and welcomed into a safe re- 
treat. Amelia took her into the parlor, and then went to 
find her mother. There are no servants about this house, 
Mrs. Freeman and Amelia doing the entire work for the 
family. 



*^C0N8TI)EEA TlONS. 


115 


Mrs. Freeman is own sister to Mrs. Dr. Jennings, and 
us Amelia brings her mother into the room Myrtle notices 
a sharp resemblance to her highly-esteemed friend at 
home. 

‘‘ Mamma, this is Miss Myrtle Stoney.^^ 

Both extended a warm, cordial grasp, and Myrtle already 
felt that she had found a friend equal to the one she had 
left behind; this fact was emphasized when Mrs. Freeman 
said : 

Yes, Miss Stoney. We have already formed a very 
favorable side tovvard you, through Mrs. Jennings, as well 
as Amelia herself, and are pleased to make your acquaint- 
ance in our home. How did you leave my sister and her 
family?” 

^‘They are well, and just as dear to me as ever. The 
doctor is in his usual jovial spirits, and Mrs. Jennings is 
clad in her ‘ charity-balP costume the most of the time.” 

‘^Yes, Mrs. Jennings is a rare woman, if she is my 
sister. 

Truly she is. She will ever be regarded by me as one 
of my most substantial friends.” 

Now, Miss Stoney, Amelia has told me all about her 
friendship with you, and often refers to her pleasant visits 
at your elegant home. We, of course, cannot give you such 
luxuriance of surroundings, but ‘such as we have, give we 
unto you,^ and gladly welcome you into our hearts as a 
friend. We hope you will feel at home with us, and when- 
ever you get homesick at the hospital, just run over here, 
and we will do all we can for you.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Freeman. I appreciate your kind- 
ness, and feel that you will surely be a source of great 
comfort to me.” 

After a modest breakfast had been served to her Amelia 
insisted upon Myrtle’s going to her room and taking a rest, 
during which time she finished up her morning’s work. 

As soon as Myrtle found herself alone she improved the 
opportunity and wrote the following to Stephen: 


“Glendale, N. Y., 28 James Avenue, ) 
“At Mr. Freeman's, June 1, 1891. f 
“ My Dear Brother Stephen and All: I arrived 
here all safe this morning at eight-thirty. The Freemans 


140 


'^COKSIDFMA TT0N8." 


have made me vei^ welcome. I am to rest here until to- 
morrow night, when I go to my work. 

‘^I hope to liear from you soon, and that you are all 
well. I will write again as soon as I am established at 
‘ Woodland ’ and iiave the time. 

‘•'Love to father and your own dear self. 

“ From your true sister, 

“ Myrtle.’’ 


She finds her stay at the Freeman liome a very profitable 
one, and becomes much strengthened in spirits as well as 
body by it. 

They do not go ont, excejU to the store, kept by Mr. 
Freeman. Amelia cannot wait until !iight to show Myrtle 
to her father, so in the afternoon the girls walk to his place 
of business. 

“Glad to see yon, Miss vStoney,” said Mr. Freeman upon 
meeting her. Ho[)e you will like the city and us too. 
We are a hard-working class of people, but have hearts that 
throb ill sympathy with all that is right and true. Just 
make yourself as comfortable as you can.” 

Myrtle did not fail to notice that the same thread of 
kindness found its way to Mr. Freeman as ran through the 
persons of his wife and daughter, and it was with a tear of 
gratitude that at tlie close of the nexr, day she left their 
humble cottage, in company with Amelia, for her place of 
business. 

Arriving at Woodland, Amelia, in the reception-parlor, 
introduced Myrtle to Mr. E. Jayson White, who showed 
her a warm welcome, and one could see by his mein that 
he was in no wise disappointed in the looks of Myrtle. 

“Well, you seem to be imbued with a goodsupplv of 
physical strength, which is one of the necessary equipments 
of a nurse, and if you have as much common sense as Miss 
Freeman has given you the credit of having, we feel quite 
sure you will fill the bill tolerably well.” 

Here the girls bid each other a tender good-night, with 
the full assurance of seeing each other as often as circum- 
stances would allow, and the porter led Myrtle to her 
room. 

She is ushered into a rather small but neat room in the 
extreme front of the house, which affords her a pleasant 


^^GONSIDEIlATIONSr 147 

view of the front yard and street, and not a despisable one 
of the city as it stretches its wings in every direction. 

Afar to the left and front she can see the tall, white 
masts of the boats as they lie in the harbor or ply to and 
from the same. Immediately in front, not far off, slio can 
eatoh occasional glimpses of old ocean, or rather, his hand- 
maid, the bay, as she rolls in her tender tide of blue. 

‘•Oh, what a delightful spot I’"’ said she as she at once 
threw open the blinds to let in the invigorating sea- 
breeze. “I little dreamed that I would find such pleasant 
quarters.” 

She rested for a few minutes by the window, and then 
proceeded to unpacking and filling the little wardrobe and 
the dresser with her earthly possessions. 

The room is furnished with a plain ingrain carpet, two 
easy-chairs, a neat two-thirds bed, dresser and commode, 
and a comfortable center-piece. The shades were of a 
plain, substantial material. 

“Well, to be sure this is in contrast with our rooms at 
home, but I believe I shall enjoy it even more.” 

At last, finding herself quite Avell fixed for the night, 
which by this time has spread its sable wings over tlie great 
city, she does not light the gas, but seating herself by her 
wide window, lingers long in the darkness, and watches the 
lights as they sparkle from their tall spires and hnniblc 
windows until drowsiness touches her with its gentle grasp 
and tells her it is time to seek repose. It is, indeed, with 
a thankful heart that she lays her head upon the dainty 
pillow, and with the truth upon her lips — 

“ He leadetli rne beside the still waters,” 
does she sleep. 

Early the next morning she is dressed, and as soon as 
the gong sounds breakfast, is in the parlor to await 
orders. 

Soon was she collected with the other hands into the 
dining-room. There were three young ladies and the ma- 
tron, a doctor and two errand-boys, who, she was informed, 
with herself and another set of night-hands, made up the 
entire corps of nurses. 

Myrtle at once sought to form the acquaintance of the 
ladies, and to feel herself as one of their number. 


U8 


‘ ‘ CON^^ID ELIA TIOJVS. 


“1 hope you will like itjiere. Miss Sfcoiiey/^ said Miss 
Jones, the first on her right. We will try to make you 
feel at home.” 

‘‘Yes, indeed; we are glad we have another soldier in 
tlie field,” said Miss Day, on her left. 

Thus does she gradually form the acquaintance of the 
parties at table, and when the meal was over she anxiously 
inquired of them as to her duties and the work. 

- She is informed that each one is expected to care for her 
own room, but Myrtle is safe here, for hers is already in 
order. 

She is ordered by the matron to the parlor, where she 
receives her brief instructions, and led by the same to her 
post of duty. 

The ward into which sheTs taken is the second convales- 
cent, and her charge is the care of six children and two 
larger girls, who are now so convalescent as to be able to 
walk about a bit, established in reclining-chairs, etc. 

She is to administer to their every need, and see that 
they in no way over-exert themselves, although they are to 
be allowed to wait upon themselves in a measure. 

Myrtle could see, by the quiet regularity and neatness 
which prevailed, that the establishment was in no degree 
a second-class institution, and felt much encouraged on 
account of this. 

She at once donned the seersucker dress, apron and 
7mrse-cap which was provided her, and set about her work, 
that of administering to the wants of her dependent flock, 
speedily becoming acquainted with them, and winning 
their confidence and esteem by her motherly traits. 

When the matron came around to make her morning in- 
vestigations she was at once struck with admiration in 
behalf of the new “ soldier.” She said to Myrtle: 

“ You will find Mrs. White a very friendly and amiable 
woman. She is my assistant, and will call upon you 
often.” 

Expressing her pleasure at finding all so favorable she 
took her friendly exit. 

By the time Myrtle had been engaged a week at her 
work she gave all concerned a reason to have no doubt as 
to her aptness and capabilities, and she had won the confi- 
dence of all. The proprietor, in order to assure her of her 
valued services, said, laughing: 


‘'CONISID ERA TIONS. 


141) 


1 do uotkuow but the tweuty-dollar salary will haVe to 
date from May 1st, if we measure out justice/’ 

She improved the first and every opportunity of calling 
upon the Freemans, which were paid back by Amelia two- 
fold when the close of day brought to Myrtle her discharge 
for the night. At this hour, seven- thirty, does Amelia 
often seek her company in her room, or in each other’s 
company do they take a brisk run over the great city. 

With these favorable surroundings about her and bright 
prospects before her we will leave her for a time at Wood- 
land and return to Stoney Mansion, dating our story back 
to the last of May, when Stephen took his lonely ride home 
from the depot, where he left his sistei* bound for — the 
future only must determine. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Yes, Stephen went to his lonely home and, as usual, to 
the discharge of his duties. lie soon realized that the 
work was more than his powers of body were equal to, so 
it was decided that a second-class hand be engaged. This 
in a measure atones for the absence of his sister. 

lie endures very well tlie time spent at the store, but 
when he seeks tiie house it is here that the heavy veil 
of despair hangs almost, impenetrable before his solemn 
face. 

Hannah at once realizes the loftiness of the position 
which she now holds, and is not at all slack in performing 
the duties which she has assigned to herself, viz: contriving 
to so manage affairs that everything is sure to turn in such 
a way as to give her much comfort and ease: at the same 
time she makes her presence felt and her inaiidates obeyed, 
or tries to. 

She throws open the house from top to bottom, and 
takes special pains to have the announcement go out that 
Mrs. Springer will be very glad to receive.” Thus does 
she say in her heart: “ 1 sit a queen.” 

Myrtle’s sudden leave-taking causes considerable excite- 
ment and curiosity throughout the town, and the most 
inquisitive even venture to call for the express purpose of 
finding out,” if possible, the reason. 


150 


^'CONSTDEllA TIONS. 


To all such inquiries Hannah is not at all dilatory in ex- 
pressing her side in the matter, and attributes the cause to 
the “disease which is unfortunately characteidstic of so 
many young people. As Myrtle is somewhat beyond the 
prevalent age at which it usually attacks them, so in pro- 
portion is she seemingly affected. The ‘big-head ’ is the 
name 1 have assigned to the calamity. Vou may name it 
wiiat you like. You know when boys and girls get so they 
know more than their long-experienced parents, aunts and 
uncles, and all deeply interested parties, it is time they go 
abroad to find room in which to expand. 

This was the outline of the explanation which the 
“ deeply interested aunt gave in reply to inquisitions as 
they were made I'rotn day to day. 

dune 2d finds the forty invitations sprinkled here and 
there over Bon vi lie with as much exactness as the Passover 
Angel used in the sprinkling of door-posts. Yone but the 
“ worthy are elected. 

Mr. Stoney has engaged three or four to be especially 
prepared in the line of music, and Mason's Band may be 
heard evening after evening tuning their instruments. 
Stephen is somewhat indifferent in i-egard to pi’oceedings; 
but, to tell the truth, he is not in real good health, and his 
father pronounces him quite excusable under the circum- 
stances. 

Phebe, Pauline and Joe are doing in this liiie as nuich as 
they are obliged to do, but with no heart in the matter. 
No; their hearts have followed the east-bound express, and 
tenderly linger over Woodland, where abides their only 
earthly hope. They work more like the slave under the 
master’s lash than like free citizens of a free Piepublic. So 
do we all when the shackles of servitude fasten about us, if 
it be we are engaged in an uncongenial work, or find our- 
selves in duty (?) bound to those who are inclined to take 
advantage of circumstances and involve us under control 
of their domineering spirits. Yet, “if thine enemv hun- 
ger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink.” So it is that 
the trio, with as good grace as possible, receive and execute 
orders fron*. headquarters, knowing of no other way. 

Hannah is almost sure she will overdo in the cause, and 
so she is ever on her guard lest she foi-get herself; and 
often does she sigh long and deep: “ The s{)irit is willing, 
but the flesh is weak,” in respoiise to her brother's in- 
quiries as to her health. 


‘^ro^'swKRA mms. 


151 


The next two weeks speed swiftly by — too swiftly for the 
poor dressmaker, who, up to her eyes in silks and laces, is 
doing well her })art. Among the rest is a brand-new, 
happy-medium green, which Hannah has selected from the 
store, and is having made up for the occasion. She 
has even ventured to lay aside the mourning jyro te^n.y and 
likewise will appear upon the scene apparently without a 
regret for her Edward; but only the owner and the Lord 
truly knoweth the heart. She has even concluded to sub- 
stitute for the black-bordered kerchief a plain white, with 
“ Hannah Springer ” inwrought by her deft fingers in a 
conspicuous corner. 

For two days prior to the destined day the scent of 
stuffed fowl, leg-of-mutton- (such as the sleeve to-day worn 
by the leading dress circles would not compare with favora- 
bly in size, only appearance) and pastries, intermingled with 
that arising from the slain tuberose and carnation, are in- 
deed a continual feast to Hannah, although, at the close of 
the second day, she openly declares that she has had her 
fill, and is not sure that the taste, smell and sight will be 
entirely new, when they are represented in truth. 

Mr. i^toney has received a note from Mr. and Mrs. Dr. 
Jennings, which reads as follows: 

“Dear Mr. Ston'EY: We thank you for your invita- 
tion to the party you are about to give; but we feel that 
the loss of your daughter to us is so great, that we could 
not feel at home upon the occasion, and prefer to pay you 
a visit at some other time. 

“ Again, Mr. Jennings is compelled by his practice to 
lose so much rest that he cannot well afford to lose the 
sleep which even one night may afford him. 

“ Hoping you may have an enjoyable evening, we re- 
main, as ever, yours truly, 

“Mr. akd Mrs. Jeninxgs.'’ 

Mr. Stoney found the contents of this letter rather hard 
to digest, but to the writers it made but little difference. 
It freely expressed their views, and was written more from 
necessity than pleasure. 

We refrain from broadening extensively upon the de- 
scriptive “ festivity ” at Stoney Mansion on June 10th. 


152 


*^CONSTDEnA Tiomv' 


It Avas composed of the usual parlor and diuiug-room en- 
tertainments, together with an extravagant amount of ball- 
room indulgence. 

Every invited guest was there in person with the excep- 
tion of Dr. Jennings and liis wife. Poor Steplien! lie 
was in such poor health that he could not even taste the 
regular supper; but as soon as he could get released from 
the store work, he crept slowly to his room and into his 
bed. 

The gay throng sent many cheerful echoes to his room, 
but they seemed to him more like the distant cries of 
devils than like those of happy merrymakers. He en- 
dured it for a long time, when finally, as if out of revenge, 
he rose and hastily penned the 'following to Myrtle: 

Bonville, June 10, 1891 — 10: 30 p. m. 

My Dear Sister: I guess you will think it strange 
that I write you at this time of night, especially since 
you know it is the evening of the great ^ carousal,^ as Joe 
calls it. 

Yes, it is in full blast below, but I am so sick that I 
can scarcely sit up, so I came to my room before dark. I 
have tried to get some rest, but the tumult is sufficient to 
keep, me all stirred up. 

I attribute mv bad feelings to overwork and care 
and — loneliness. However, I am not at all dangerous, 
and hope when this afl'air is over and the sea is again 
smooth, or comparatively so, that I may pick up. 

‘^I have not approaclied father on the subject of busi- 
ness yet, but shall in a few days, if he don’t drink so much 
wine to-night as to tip him over for a week. 

I am glad yon are getting along so well and like your 
work. Mr. and Mrs. Jennings, out of respect to you, 
tariied at home to night, or at least this is what they 
expected to do. 

“ Write often to your hopeful brother, 

“ Stephen.” 

It was not a little consoling to Myrtle, as she read this, 
to realize the truth of Mr. and Mrs. Jennings’ friendship 
for her, and although she felt sad to learn of Stephen’s 
illness, yet she felt glad that he was kept from indulging in 
wliat she looked upon as wrong. She felt grateful to know 


‘ ‘ cox!siDEn .1 no MS. ” 


153 


that he was in his quiet room, carefully guarded by his 
angel mother, instead of reveling at that late hour in ball 
and dining-room. 

The ‘‘carousal"" broke up at 1 a. m., and by 2 the 
house was once more calm. Stephen then caught a few 
hours of broken sleep, and rose early; for lack of 
rest and under his burden, does he staggers down the stair, 
and finding Joe he asks liim to mail his letter. 

“ Oh, for the sake o" mercy, how are we a-goin" to live 
out this wretched day!"" said Joe, as he took the letter. 
“ I believe I shall spend part of it out there on the rustic 
seat a-sleepin". If your father don"t jest like it he must 
jest lump it. Joe Tinker can"t work all day an" all night 
too, nor sha’n"t. There is no law which compels me to. 

“ Why, Stephen, you poor soul, you look’s if you"d 
been on a drunk fur a week. I know you are mi"ty sick, 
an" I pity you from my heart; but, fur my sake, keep up if 
you can. Til take back all I said. I"ll go and mail this 
letter, then Til come back, an’ if there’s a blessed thing I 
can do to help you to-day, jest let me know, an" I’ll do it, 
if I poss’bly can keep "wake long "nough.” 

Mr. Stoney came down about the middle of the forenoon, 
with eyes and face swollen and reddened by the night’s de- 
bauchery. He does not even make an attempt at breakfast, 
but goes at once to the store for his usual smoke. 

Stephen is there, but looks a fitter subject for bed. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Stoney, as he saunters into his chair, 
“I am quite sure this will be a day of lounging to me, 
Jim,” addressing the second-hand man. “ I want you to 
prick up your ears and help Steve and Ralph all you can 
to-day. I expect it will be kind of tough for them to 
manage things if you don’t. I am so blasted tired that I 
can’t wag.” 

Mr. Stoney fails to see the prints of the slaughtered 
night upon the countenance of his son, or, if he does see 
them, does not heed or care. He sits and smokes, and 
smokes and sits and — nothing more. Stephen sees that he 
is so far gone that he does not even maintain his usual 
supply of flattery and palaver over customers. 

The day is put in, as ali days must be, in some way, and 
about the middle of tlie afternoon Mr. Stoney turns his 
back to store and all public and seeks liis private apart- 
ment, doubtless for a replenishing of spirits from his bot- 
tle, as well as for rest. 


154 


‘ ‘CONSIDERA TIONS. ” 


As for Hannah she is only just able to respond to tlie 
summons of the gong at each three alarms as it dares 
to resound tli rough her room and disturb licT rest. 

Stephen clings to the store until about 7 P. M., when he 
tuims things over to the men and goes to his bed. 

Oh, the black cloud that hangs over Stoney Mansioii on 
il\e night of June 11th is in contrast with the brilliancy 
which enwrapped it twenty- four hours ago! It seems bet- 
ter to let the “light shine at all times with a more even 
tenor than to send it out at times in such extravagant 
waves, and then perhaps haul it in forever. 

As Stephen had prophesied, Mr. Stoney was a full week 
in regaining control of himself and in restoring his equi- 
librium. Stephen has kept up in some way, but it is 
rather difficult to see how. The first opportunity he has 
of talking “ business” to his father he asks him in regard 
to the affair of which Myrtle was so urgeuit to him. 

“Father, I have made up my mind that I would like a 
settlement of affairs, and I want to know what is my dues 
to date, and have set off the same amount in stock and 
have it in my own name. It is the correct way of doing 
business, and I am sure it will be better for us both.” 

“ Oh, pshaw! I wonder if you are getting fidgety about 
what is coming to you! Did you ever know me to cheat a 
man or wrong hirn out of his dues?” 

“No, father, I have no reason to think you would wrong 
me, but I am of that age now when I naturally would like 
to feel a little independent, and I could be more interested 
if I knew what I had and where it was. Rieht is risht, 
and right wrongs nobody. So it is best that we come to 
this agreement.” 

“ Yes, you are getting the same disease your sister lias. 
I trust you will both recover from it. I think matters are 
all right as they ai-e. You know how much is made in the 
stoi’e every month, and you know one-third is youi's. 
What better would it be if you had it set off in so "much 
stock.” 

“ Perhaps no better off as long as matters remain as they 
are; but in this world of change we do not know what mav 
happen; so to be on the safe side, I ask it,” 

“ Well, when there is some prospect of t^here being a 
tumult, there will be time enough to fix it up.” 

Stephen said nothing more at present in regard to it, 


^CONSJDKllA 7'T(}XR 


155 


but felt nuicli grieved at liis father’s injustice, and this en- 
hanced his peri)lexities fiot a little. Yet he is faithful to 
duty, and strives to rise above the tide of adversity. 

One day Mr. iMaxwell came into the store with his bas- 
ket of produce, and Stephen did up for him the little 
bundle of goods in exchange. 

As he w'as about to start away he said to Stephen: 
lYas your sister well the last you heard from her? My 
wife and I got a beautiful letter from lier about three 
weeks ago, and 1 wish you would say to her for me that we 
appreciate it, and when my hand gets limbered up a bit 1 
intend to answer it. d’ell hei* also that Mrs. Maxwell is 
now able to go about the house a bit and see to tilings. 
She and 1 will both try to write, when we get started.’’ 

^‘She is well,” said Stephen, ‘^and likes her work.” 

I am glad of it. Your sister is one of the women of 
tlie world in my estimation.” 

“She is in mine. I miss her sorely lierc, and can hardly 
swim without her.” 

We will now leave Stoney Mansion in the hands of Han- 
nah, who, after the party and after a complete restoration 
of nerve force, sails with even broadwr canvas than ever. 
Stephen is awake to all this, and for this reason he is 
especially anxious. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Myrtle by no means leaches heaven when she reaches 
Woodland. Although the sea seems a calm one on which 
to ride for a short way out, yet as she farther and farther 
pulls into the waters they become turbid, a.ud at times 
even throw up their white caps and waves in a terrific 
manner. 

At the opening of this chapter she has completed her 
eight weeks with full satisfaction to the proprietor, and 
has clearly merited her diploma to serve as a regularly 
equipped nurse. 

We place the date of this chapter at July 1st, at which 
time wo see Myrtle about to accept what may well be 
termed promotion, although by no means is it an easier 
place, but a more responsible one, and one which only 
proves her proficiency. 


^'CONSID ERA rrONS. 


150 ) 

The manager sees fit to change her place to the ward 
which receives the patients from the entrance-door. Tliis 
has been in cliarge of Miss Jones, who keenly feels the re- 
flections wliich the change casts upon her own dear self 
and realizes Myrtle’s aptness over hers. This, of course, 
necessitates, in the mind of Miss Jones, a certain jealousy, 
and she is never entirely free from the duty which she has 
of exercising a mild revenge upon her victim as opportu- 
nities occur. 

In fact, all the gilds are made sore by Myrtle’s superior- 
ities above themselves; and the stableness of her mind and 
body tends to create within their hearts so great an amount 
of jealousy and envy, with the admiration which they can- 
not do otherwise than entertain for her, that it becomes 
such a two-sided admiration that we can hardly admire it. 

Myrtle has in her I’oom a nice picture of her home. 
Judging from this, and the bits of knowledge they have 
picked up indirectly, they have good reason to know that 
at least her father is a wealthy man. 

As we have stated, the institution is by no means a sec- 
ond-class {ifl'air, thus we ought to expect all connected with 
it to be first-class. 

I\Irs. Whiter is, as the matron has pronounced her, a 
friendly woman; that is, in her way, and to all lovers of 
flattery she is doubly amiable. But Myrtle, in her eym- 
])licity and love of truth, could detect such an extravagant 
amount of deception and outside polish, that the presence 
of Mrs. White became almost a terror to her. 

]\lr. White was of a mild, unassuming nature, and dealt 
in justice more than polish, lie deals with Myrtle after 
this fashion, and is entirely ignorant of the game that is 
being played behind his back, of which crime his own 
Avife can by no means wash her hands as white as her name. 

But from no one does she suffer more than from the 
matron herself, who is ever on the alert, for she can 
clearly see that away in the future Myrtle will stand in the 
identical track she noAv occupies, and she is determined, 
by any or all injustice, to stay her rapid strides in this di- 
rection. It is doubtful whether this thought has ever en- 
tered the mind of Myrtle; but if it has she never enter- 
tains an ill Avish toAvard her adversary, and it would be as 
far beneath her sense of right to even think of undermin- 
ing the same as the earth is beneath the sun. 


^‘COKSIDKUA TIONS:' 


157 


But jealousy on the part of the matron lias reached siu h 
an heiglit as to imagine the workings of such an evil spirit 
in Myrtle. 

Mrs. AVhite has always "Mcept her eye on'^ Mr. White, 
lest he should see something more to be admired in the 
persons of some of the attendants than in her own flimsy 
attractions. Truly now she has manifold reasons to be 
awake. She knows Myrtle has more mother-wit and 
traits of character than all her side of the house put 
together. 

It is said, and quite rightly said, that beauty is a dan- 
gerous tiling.’^ Truly then may we say of the beautiful 
mind, which endures forever, that it may be a dangerous 
thing. Yet we are safe in saying no beautiful mind can be 
allured from its channel, so the only real danger there can 
come to it is the envy and censure which universally seek 
it out and sot it up as a target at which it may aim its fiery 
darts. 

With a full sense of all this existing about her does 
l\ryrtle unassumingly take the new position in the hospital. 
kSIjo finds the work much harder, yet even more interesting, 
and exercises her abilities more. Sh^ usually has from 
three to four under her immediate care, but is not long 
generally in shoving them on to the first convalescent 
ward. 

Mr. AVhite cannot fail to see the great improvement over 
the former supervision, nor can any of them. 

One da3% while suffering in no small degree the slights 
and scorns of her co-workers, she finds, to her dismay, even 
an augment to her troubles. There comes, delivered to 
her, a letter addressed in her name, but postmarked ‘^Xew 
York.^^ She at once recognizes the handwriting to be 
dimly familiar, but cannot discern the source until the 
signature reveals that of ^‘Fred Hastings/’ 

"with a pang of dread does she finish the meal, with sus- 
picious eyes fixed upon her, as they note the flush of red, 
then pale, as they in turn oversweep her face. 

She does not read the letter at the table, but thrusts it 
into her bosom-pocket and delays until alone in her room. 
When this opportunity comes she reads as follows: 

'‘35G Doan st., X. 1^., July 15, 1891. 

''Dear Miss Stonky: Having learned through my 


158 


^^CONfim'El^A TfONs:' 


niiele that yon were in the city, and obtaining your ad' 
dress, 1 venture to ask the pl^nisure of calling upon \^on. 

‘‘May I do so? If so, at what time, etc.? 

“ Yours, with deepest regard, 

“ Fkep H.astixgs.” 

Myrtle sat long in her little room beforfe the window, and 
looked out upon the blue bay, and sweetly did the beautiful 
strain — 

“ How often, ob, bow often 

I’ve wished tbat tbe ebbing tide 
Might bear me away on its bosom, 

O’er the ocean, wild and wide,” 

flow from her lips as she took it up. “ Yet, where would 
it land me, if perchance I should drift upon its bosom? 
Would it take me from the haunts of envy and scorn, and 
place me in some distant land where peace reigns supreme? 
or is there naught on this wide earth but the mutterings 
of war, at all that is just and true and holy?’^ 

Arousing herself at length, she wrote the following to 
Fred Hastings: 

“ WooDLAXD Hospital. X. Y., July 16, 1891. 

“ Mk. Hastings: I have just read your note, and will 
say in reply that it will give me bit of pleasure to con- 
verse with any one who ever saw Bonville. I thank you 
for your thoughtfulness of me, and as 1 am discharged 
two hours earlier on Saturday evenings (at five). I shall 
endeavor to spare a portion of my time to you on next 
Saturday evening, if this be convenient to you. It is diffi- 
cult for me to receive callers at other hours. 

“Truly, M. Stoney.** 

Myrtle wrote this with sort of a cordial stress, not fi’om 
any special motive only, as she said to him, to gratify, 
her longing desire to talk for a time upon the subject of 
home. 

She did feel thankful that there was some one who was 
kind enough to ask this privilege of her. 

After stepping out and dropping the letter into the posc- 
box she again went to her room. 


''iVlS^HDERA TIONS. 


150 


.She is not long alone when she receives w’ord that Miss 
Freeman is below and wishes to see her. 

Tell her to come right along up.’' 

Soon Amelia is with her, and the two, as was their wont, 
exchanged confidence. 

Myrtle," said her guest, ‘‘ I have come over to-night 
for the express, purpose of telling you that Mr. Dean" 
(Myrtle has often before heard of Mr. Dean) has come to 
the conclusion that he cannot live longer than until fall 
without me; so at that time. Providence permitting, I am 
to unite my feeble powers with his, and we shall low our 
little boat together." 

Oh, Amelia! 1 am hardly ready to hear this, yet ought 
to be. I know it is well, and I already congratulate you 
upon your final decision; but I have just enougli selfishness 
about me to acknowledge to you that I do not like to spare 
you, and doubly hard is it for me since you are goifig to 
leave the city. But I bid you a hearty Godspeed, and 
trust that the good Father will raise up some one in 
whom I can confide and whom I can love as well as you.” 

Do vou never enter into confidence with the girls here. 
Myrtle?" 

No, they are not such as would readily win my confi- 
dence. Amelia, I have just received and responded to 
a note from Fred Hastings, inviting himself to call 
upon me." 

“ Have you? Did you accept his kind offer?" 

‘^Certainly. I think a visit with him on the Bonvillc 
question will be pleasant." 

‘^Of course it wdll. J am glad you did not refuse." 

After a long and low talk Myrtle bids Amelia a sweet 
good-night at the outer door, to which place she escorts 
her, and by no means did Amelia see the tear that trickled 
down the face of her friend as she did so. On her way 
back to her room Myrtle muiunured to herself: 

“ Oh, how can 1 give up Amelia! even to 'Slv. Dean, 
who has, 1 know, a clear title." 

On the Saturday following, at 5:30, a card was cai’ried 
to Mvrtle which read: “Fred Hastings." 

She is dressed for lier visitor in a rich afternoon rohe, 
which lends perfect grace to iier form. She immediately 
goes to the parlor, where he is in waiting. Reaching him a 
hand of warm greeting, she said; 


100 


‘ ^CONSIDER A TIONS. 


^^Mr. Hastings, it was clever in you to think of me, and 
to prove it to me in this way. I am glad to see you.^' 

Allow me to say, Miss Stoney, that I have thought of 
you many times since I took my leave of Bonville. I was 
very sorry to learn of your bereavement. But pray tell 
me what or who sent you here?^^ 

^ • I sent myself. Through my friend, Miss Amelia 
Freeman, who resides here, I got track of this place 
and came. I longed for a change in my work and 
surroundings.^’ 

You surely cannot find in all New York a more pleas- 
ant place than your own home!” 

‘‘No; but you- know it will not do always to adhere to 
the same place, even if it be pleasant. We must some- 
times leave these bright environments, and meet the rough 
exterior of life. You know the Book says: ‘ Sell all that 
thou hast.’ I have not sold out, but left it behind. Per- 
haps I have not fulfilled this exactly.” 

“How is your father? and who fills your place at 
home?” 

“He is ordinarily well. My father’s sister is there at 
present.” 

“Your brother — is he still at home?” 

“ Yes, sir; he is in the store; but he writes me that his 
health is not very good. He is obliged to work too hard, 
I think; in fact, I know he does. His responsibilities are 
heavy.” 

“Do 3^011 find the work here agreeable?” 

“Quite so, thank you. How are you getting along in 
your theology? Are you by this time able to stand behind 
the pulpit, and tell the truth, the whole truth, and noth- 
ing but the truth, like a real good witness should?” 

“ Oh, yes. That is, I stand there and tell what to me 
appears as the truth, as near as I dare stick to it. I think 
we must not speak the truth at all times, even if we know 
it; and it is sometimes difficult for me to know just what 
the truth is.” 

“ I once heard ayoung man, who was just entering upon 
the practice of medicine, say: ‘ A doctor has got to lie; 
there is no other way.’ Is it thus in the ministry?” 

“ Why— n — no; I guess not. And yet there are many 
l imes when one has to conform to such an extent to that 
which is wrong to get along with people that it might 


^•CONSIDEUA TIUNS. ” 


161 


almost be called lying. Are you as radical as you used to 
be ill regard to your pet opinions, Miss Stoney? and have 
3 *ou dared to bring them to the metropolis? If so, I fear 
you may find yourself in trouble if you preach them here.” 

“ I did not come here to preach. 1 do not expect to 
interfere with New York. I will simply try to do my duty 
here, and I shall do it in truth. There is no profession 
on the face of this earth which, if followed and worked 
upon the principle of truth, will demand us to lie. ‘He 
that is not for me, is against rne.^ We are either for the 
truth or against it. There is no half-way about it.” 

“ Well, I see you are quite earnestly engaged in the 
profession of truth, to which your looks as well as actions 
certify. I read a day or so ago that a truthful woman is 
an ornament to her home. Please accept this as a clever 
compliment from me.” 

“ Thank you; compliments never hurt me. True, gen- 
uine compliments fit me sometimes, and I always try to 
wear them meekly; and if they branch off into flattery 
they never touch.” 

“You find very nice people here, I suppose. I have 
heanl Mrs. White is a very friendly and cordial woman.” 
• “1 have no reason to complain of anything here. It is 
a pleasant place, and good order prevails. Mr. White is 
an excellent man for the place.” 

Myrtle took this way to get around the matter in the 
most satisfactory way; to cast no reflections, and still say 
only the truth. After a three-fourth’s hour of conversa- 
tion, a great part about Bonville, Mr. Hastings thinks it 
is time to take his leave. 

“I have eiijoyed my call hugely. Miss Stoney, and I 
hope I have not so far intruded upon your time that you 
will never want me to come again. May I call at this 
hour, in the couise of a couple of weeks?” 

“ Yes; I enjoy a friemlly call well, and will try and cut 
my shopping short and leceivo you a short time. I usin 
ally s[)end these two hours doing my shopping, and the 
little outside business which I have to attend lays some 
claim upon it. I also have a dear friend in the city, and I 
try to slij> over there once in two weeks, or oftener if I can, 
and tell her how much I value her friemlship. However, 
if you care to do so, you may call two weeks from to-day, 
I \\iil endeavor not to forget my engagement,” 


162 


^^CONSIBEUA TIOKB:^ 


Myrtle said this with careless indifference, which gave 
Mr. Hastings full assurance that his call would be none of 
such importances^ but tliat it might even be forgotten 
by her; this was not a most agreeable feature to him. 

“ Well, good-afternoon, Miss 8tone3^ I will be here at 
the stated time, if nothing prevents,’^ and he took his 
leave. 

By this time the night-hands were ready to go upon 
duty, and it had become quite prevalent among the femi- 
nine quarters that “Miss Stoney had had a gentleman 
caller, and that she dressed beautifully to receive him. 
Who cai\ it be? Who can it be?’’ 

This was the inquiry that was whispered from one to 
another. 

As Myrtle passed through the hall on her way to her 
room pi'ior to her retirement for the night she met Mrs. 
White, who said to her: 

“You have had a caller, Miss Stoney? I am glad of it. 
It does one good to dress up once in awhile and see people. 
You look beautiful in that dress. I never saw you have on 
such a becoming suit before.” 

Myrtle smiled sweetly and said: “ Yes, I have had a 
caller and enjoyed it much,” and passed on. 

Finally, Mrs. White> unable longer to bear the suspense, 
tackled the porter to see if he gave his name. 

“'No, ma’am; he did not tell his name, but sent up his 
card.” 

“What name was on the card?” asked she, excitedly 
and anxiously. 

“ Well, ma’am, I considered that none of my business 
and did not look at it.” 

“ Oil, pshaw! Why didn’t you?” 

“ Because I have had orders from headquarters; and 
besides, have enough sense of decency myself to attend to 
my own affairs and let other people’s alone, ma’am.” 

Mrs. White felt such a combination of disappointment 
at not being able to find out the truth, and such a sense of 
shame and humiliation at the fact that her servant had a 
better knowledge of propriety and good behavior in this 
respect, that she turned to him to make amends: 

“ Well, it is all right; I’m glad you didn’t read the 
card!” (She lied and she knew it.) “ It is best, of course, 
that you attend- strictly to your own business,” Here the 


^'GONSWEEA TI0N8: 


163 


porter went on, and she could not fail to feel within her- 
self a rising condemnation, as slio noted the look of disap- 
proval upon Ins face. 

Thus does “ the caller become the subject of silent in- 
vestigation by ail the party, and they are determined not 
to give it up until they know, 'idiey seek her in her room 
at suitable times, and endeavor in every way to learn it 
without becoming ‘‘ impudent enough to ask her out- 
right; of course, this would not do. 

Myrtle is not blind to it, and has a shade of satisfaction 
at their expense. 

The time slips on, and they, at the end of the two weeks, 
are as ignorant'of it as in the begliining. 

Myrtle remembers (she could not well forget) her en- 
gagement, and as the porter, on the 5th of August, an- 
nounces to her “Mr. Fred Hastings,’’ she laughingly said 
to herself: “It is out now.” 

She met him in the same cordial way, and after one-half 
hour he makes her realize in full that he desires to con- 
tinue these “friendly” calls, and even insists upon it, at 
lier assurance that such cannot bo the case. 

“ Mr. Hastings, my circumstances at present would not 
])ermit of my indulging in such things, even if my judg- 
ment said ‘yes.’ 1 am too deeply interested in my beloved 
brother at home, and a few particular friends that I have, 
as well as my work, to turn my attention in the direction 
of which you speak. I shall hope, however, to see you 
occasionally, and am going to invite myself over to hear 
you preach some day, when I can leave my charge long 
enough.” 

Mr. Hastings was too far down in disappointment to ex- 
press himself as pleased or displeased at th.e idea, and say- 
ing to her: 

“ Miss Stoney, I still have hope, and although ‘Hope 
deferred maketh the heart sick,’ I am willing to carry 
around such a heart for you.” 

“Mr. Hastings, I am very sorry matters are thus. 
Please do not allow it to be so. Such a thing can 
never be.” 

She said this with such a decided air that he bid her 
good-by with a trembling voice and withdrew. 


164 


*^C0T![S11)ERA TIONS. " 


CHAPTER XXI. 

It came to pass that, as the name of Fred Hastings 
began to slip from one to another in Woodland, it finally 
reached Miss Day, and very unfortunate it was for her. She 
had met liirn lierself upon several occasions, and had fallen 
“ up to her eyes^'’ in love with him. He had returned her 
attentions by appearing perhaps a trifle more than civil 
to her. 

As she learned that he had called upon Miss Stoney, it 
was with the gidnding teeth of anger that she received the 
intelligence, and she is bent upon revenge— or something. 

With Miss Day as captain, the soldiers of Woodland 
attack Mjrtle, who, as the daughter of Zion, stands like a 
besieged city. She feels many and many times like fleeing 
from the adversary, but her flight is only to her little quiet 
room, where in solitude she fights the battle with her ex- 
pected Deliverer. 

They fail in all other attempts and finally attack her 
with mockeries. At first she felt that these w'ould prove 
to be tlie spikes in her hands and feet, but at the close of 
the day, as she sought her Bible for comfort, her eyes f(dl 
upon the words: ‘‘And they mocked him.'*’ 

“ Well,^" said she to herself, “ w’hy am I any better than 
my Master? I can and will fight this battle through. 
‘Though he slay me yet will I trust him.^*'’ 

After a resolution of this kind she felt much stronger, 
and able to “ coj)e with the adversaries of which Mrs. 
Jennings had spoken. She enjoyed her work, and to 
her little suffeiers speedily on tlie gain, and to be the re-' 
cipieiit of their grateful looks as she I'clievecl, here sind 
there, a pain, was indeed a great spur to all good. 

Her charge seemed to increase as the hot summer months 
came on, and she found hei’ dematids ev(‘n more than her 
]>hysical strength. This necessitated almost the steady at- 
tendance of one or the other of the matrons, and even with 
her help she must sti-ive to keep above \vater. 

Finally, as the jiatietits came in in such a large number 
Myrtle was forced to consult the proprietor as to the need 
of another steady assistant. He was not hard. to convince 
of this, so sought the temporary services of a lady close at 
hand. Myrtle hoped, from the bottom of her heart, that 


^^(JONSIDEliA TI0N8. 


J65 


this ''soldier^ might serve as a reinforcement to herself, 
and for awhile she did seem to regard her in a friendly 
way: hut in due time she, too, fell in league with the en- 
vious foe, and fought with equal energy. 

As Myrtle is thus involved, she, at the close of a very 
hard day, throws herself upon her face — just the place 
where God puts his subjects when he has something glori- 
ous to reveal to them — as she reached her quiet corner, 
and wept for a season; then, as was her custom, she sought 
divine comfort. 

“ Sit on my right hand, until I make thine enemies thy 
footstool,^'' was the strengthening shield which she bound 
on, and sallied forth for ‘"one more day’s work.” 

It was indeed a liard one, but at the supper-table she 
was inwardly congratulating herself upon her modest vic- 
tory, and longing for the seventh hour which would bring 
to her quiet, when the porter lay by her on the table a let- 
ter. At once inquisitive and sarcastic glances began to 
pass from each to each at the table. ' 

“ I do enjoy receiving letters,” says Miss Jones. 

“Oil, so do I! I am the recipient of quite a large num- 
ber at the present time, some, of which are very important 
ones,” says Miss with a pretended smile of satisfac- 
tion at her neighbor Jones. 

“ Oh, it is just delightful to have good correspondents, 
and I have such a rare supply. They are not extravagant 
in number, but very select,” says Myrtle’s next neighbor 
on the left. 

They hoped, by these vain efforts, to succeed in driv- 
ing Myrtle from the table. They were quite sure she would 
soon finish her meal, and, forgetting to ask to “ be ex- 
cused,” would rush to her room to break the seal. But 
Myrtle glanced at the letter, and at once recognizing the 
handwriting to be that of Hannah, slipped it under her 
plate and calmly resumed the meal. 

“ AVhen I get letters,” said another “soldier,” “ I never 
wait a minute to explore the contents. I expect this is 
only one of my weaknesses.” 

“ No,” said her right-hand colleague; “ I think'it is per- 
fectly polite, under most any circumstance, to break the 
seal of our missives, and if they are important, to read 
them. This is my way of doing.” 

Here a “titter” started at one point, and like fire 
swept round the corners of the table. 


166 


‘ ‘ CO NSW ERA TIONS. 


*‘No\v, Miss Stouey/’ said Miss Joues, we plainly see 
what you believe about the matter by your actions. Are 
you always so indifferent as to your correspondents?’’ 

‘‘I do not know that I am indifferent at al! in regard 
to them. I usually prefer to read letters in private, and I 
guess I generally do so, although I liave no fixed law upon 
which 1 act. Generally act about as I see fit.” 

Myrtle said this without adding: And it is nobody’s 

business;” and it is doubtful if she even thought it. But 
as sure as the ^M)it bird flutters,” so sure do all of them 
add these words for her, in their own minds. 

Nor yet, after Myrtle has finished her meal, does she 
tear herself away ‘Ho read the letter,” but composedly sits 
back in her chair, with gracefully folded arms, waiting 
until the proper time arrives for lising. 

Her unpremeditated manners are a source of great incon- 
venience to all of them. In due time she, with the rest, 
rises from her seat, and in a deliberate walk ascends the 
staircase. After her door is securely fastened, she opens 
the letter, and it is with marked curiosity that she does it, 
for she is not a little astonished at receiving a letter from 
Haunah. It read: 


‘^Bokville, Aug, C, 1891. 

“ Dear Niece: I am called upon to perform a painful 
duty to-day — that of imparting to you the sad fact that 
Stephen is dead!” (As Myrtle read this, her eyes gathered 
darkness, and she sat for she knew not how long with her 
head resting upon the back of her chair, and tlie letter 
crumpled within her hand. When she regained conscious- 
ness, so as to again endeavor to read the lettei’, she found 
it was dark. After staggering to the gas, she lighted it, 
and throwing lierself upon her bed, once more read.) 

One week ago to-day — he had not seemed very strong 
of late, but did not complain seriously — as he went from 
dinner to the store, he was about to take the last step up 
to the door, when he fell forward, and grasping his head 
with his hands, exclaimed: ‘I am dying!’ 

Your father was only a few feet away, but when he 
went to lift him up he saw at once that it was even so. 
Of course it was so sudden to us all that it well-nigh took 
all our senses, as well as strength. Your father and I dis- 
cussed the matter about letting you know, and finally 


''CONSIDERA TLOyS. ” 


1G7 


coLLcludetl tlifit ill all probability you could not leave 
your work, so be said we would widt until after the 
funeral, before telling you, as it would only be an aggra- 
vation to you for me to write juit a word, and a dispatch 
would only be worse yet. 

^‘Your father gave him a beautiful funeral. It was 
very largely attended, and everything that Thomas could 
do he did to make it nice. We buried him at the left 
side of your mother, and there were sights of flowers put 
on the grave. 

“We are, of course, in closed doois and black, butdonot 
think it necessary to keep it so quite as long as we did 
when FI )rence died. 

“The red of us are as well as could be expicted. Your 
father is in excellent spirits, everything considered. He 
has hired a good head man in the store, who is fully as 
competent as Stephen was, and at even less expense than 
it cost to maintain Stephen. 

“We hope you will bear this with your Christian grace, 
and that you are still prospering. 

“ Love from your alfectionate aunt,. 

“Hakxapi Spuinger.'' 


' After Myrtle had got through, stopping at nearly every 
word to regain strength and courage, she could do 
nothing but lie still and dream. Her eyes are dry: not 
even a tear of relief can force its way from those heavenly 
windows of a great and noble soul: Has God wijied them 
forever away? Surely not; for when He wipes away all 
tears, it wdll be with joy. 

She lies thus, with apparently no thought but of mother, 
Stephen, heaven, home. Alas! she has no home! It is 
deep into the night when, from a sense of the chilly ocean 
breeze as it sweeps in through the open window upon hei’, 
she realizes her condition. At first she said: 

“ Am I dreaming? Stephen dead! Where am I? What 
does it mean? No, I am not dreaming! It is a stern 
reality! Here is the letter!^’ 

As with difficulty she rises from the bed the voice of the 
patrolman floats up to her room: 

“Twelve oYlock and alFs wellT^ 

“What! Pid mamma speak — ‘it is well?' Oh, no! 


168 


‘ ‘ CON SID ERA TIONS. 


It is the watchman making his regular trip past Wood- 
land/^ 

To assure herself of this she turns over her dainty time- 
piece upon the dresser and finds it is midnight. Extin- 
guishing the gas, she slowly disrobes, and after bathing 
her eyes, wliich seem set within their sockets, in the soft 
ocean air for a short time, staggers into bed. 

She does not sleep, or if she does it is so disturbed by 
the realities of the day that she knows it not. Nothing 
but the hoarse notes of the breakfast-gong succeeds in 
fully awakening her. She dresses, and as she i-eaches the 
table finds the girls there busy at their task, and she 
cannot fail to see, even above her blood-stained shield, the 
immodest references that pass from one to another as to 
her face, which, in spite of her, betrays her inward 
sufferings. 

Good-morning, ladies, said she, drawing out her chair 
and taking her place. As the waiter came around she said 
to him: 

A cup of coffee and a bit of toast, please.’’ 

Are you sick, ^liss Stoney ?” said her right-hand neigh- 
bor, “ or did that letter contain bad news?” (Here sarcastic 
glances shot back and forth over the table.) ^‘What an 
effect these letters do have!” 

No, ma’am; I guess I am not sick, but my letter did ' 
contain very sad intelligence. My brother is dead!” 

Is that so?” exclaimed Miss Day. ‘‘Why, when did 
he die?” 

‘^Over a week ago.” 

‘^And you have only just heard of it! They did not 
even dispatch you! Very strange, isn’t it?” 

This last inquisition was directed at Miss Jones. 

‘‘Well, 1 should say so! If my brother should die I 
should conclude that my folks did not have much regard 
for me if they did not let me know of it.” 

Myrtle made no reply to these taunts, but sat demurely, 
endeavoring by the free use of coffee to wash down the 
toast, which was so much needed to keep up her strength 
for the day’s duties. She soon politely asked the doctor, 
who usually presided, the gracious permit of an excuse, 
which was granted by the gentle “certainly,” and Myrtle 
made her way to the proprietor’s private dining-room, 
where she found him shoved back a modest distance 


^'(U)XSUJKRA TIONA. 


ICO 


from the table, while Mrs. White was still sipping at her 
coffee. 

Pardon me for interrnpting yon, Mr. and Mrs. White, 
blit I am compelled to ask of you an early discharge from 
duty to-day.^’ 

“ Yes, 1 see you are sick; one would know that by (lie 
looks of you,"’ said Mrs. M'hite, eying her from th.e ex- 
treme corners of her unsympathetic eyes without tui'iiing 
her head. 

“ What is the matter, Miss Stoney?” said Mr. White. 

I received word from home last night that my brother 
is dead, and the shock proved sufficient to keep me awake 
the greater part of the night.” 

Is it possiblel” said Mrs. White, with a slight attempt 
at remorse. course you will start at once for the 

funeral?” added she, inquisitively. 

No; he has been dead over a week.” 

‘^Over a week! and you have only just heard of it?” 
ejaculated Mrs. White. Isn’t that strange?” 

This exclamatory question was aimed at Mr. White. 

They probably had their own reasons fordoing as they 
did. This should not concern us,” said he in I'eply. 
‘‘Yes, Miss Stoiiey, you have our sympathies, and also 
your early hour to-night. I would let you off all day if I 
could possibly get some one to fill your place.” 

“Thank you, you are very kind. I will try and serve 
until the middle of the afternoon.” 

“If Mrs. White cannot take the stand at that time, I 
will do it myself,” he said. “ What was the cause of your 
.brother’s death?” 

“1 think it was overwork, with care and anxiety. He 
died at his post; dropped in the store. He has never been 
in the best of health since mamma died, and I presume 
the hot weather was against him.” , 

“ No doubt,” said Mr. White. “Half of us work our- 
selves into a premature grave.” 

J^y some sustaining grace MyiHe served hei‘ time in the 
ward until three in the afternoon, when Mrs. White came 
am! said to hei-; 

“ Afr. White has sent me to dismiss you, and to fill your 
jilace.” 

“ 'J’hank you, I am exceedingly tired, and your favor 
will be highly appreciated.” 


^^CONSIDKRA TI0N8. 


KO 

After giving a passing glance at each prostrate form, she 
asked them not to call her to supper, and bidding Mrs. White 
a kind afternoon, then went to her chamber. Closing the 
blinds, she drew her bed immediately in front of the 
window, that she might receive the full benefit of all the 
breeze there was. She soon slept a long, quiet, and re- 
freshing sleep. 

When she awoke night was beginning to tinge her 
clever abode with his somber hues. She rose, and pushing 
open the blinds saw the good-night kiss that tlie sun was 
throwing back at old ocean from his long golden finger tips. 

She summoned the porter, and asked him to please 
bring her a cup of tea, as she did not feel like dressing for 
the dining-room. After she had taken this she felt very 
much refreshed, and tears, gentle tears, flowed freely for 
the first time. 

At first she longed to see some kind, sympathizing friend 
like Amelia, and she was on the point of sending for her. 
Then when she realized how worn she was, she thought it 
best to spend the night alone. 

I will invite Amelia to come to-morrow, and spend 
the night with me,’^ said she to herself, ‘‘ I will feel more 
like seeing her then.’’ She disrobes for the night, and a 
refreshing rest it affords. 

Early the next morning she dispatched to Amelia, asking 
her if she can come in the evening and stay over night. 
Amelia said ‘*yes” to her imploring voice, for she half imag- 
ined Myrtle to be in trouble, and in need of a comforter. 

She is quite able to-day to stand at her post; and as she 
takes her usual place at the breakfast-table she creates no 
little astonishment in the minds of the girls that she ‘^can 
be so composed and unconcerned at the loss of a brother.” 

Amelia is as good as her word, and as early as possible 
she reaches the room. 

My poor cliild! What is the matter with you! Are you 
sick and in need of a doctor? I am first-class,” said Amelia 
as she entered the rooin and found Myrtle looking wan 
and pale. 

‘^Are you competent to bind up a broken heart?” 

Broken heart! Why? Has J\lr. Hastings had the impu- 
dence to cut those calls shoid? and are they too far 
between?” 

•‘No, Amelia; it is not over Fred Hastings that my 
heart beats too heavily. IMy biother is dead!” 


•^aONSIDEUA TIONS: 


171 


Myrtle relates toiler the sad circumstance, and Amelia, 
as only she could do, wpes away the tears of grief as they 
roll from the loving eyes of Myrtle lying prostrate upon 
the bed. 

“You know. Myrtle, that we are told, ‘the Lord 
maketh sore, but He biiideth up' as well. I wish I was 
able to heal this wound, but this I can only leave to the 
Great Physician; it is beyond my power." 

Till quite late does Amelia apply the healing balm of 
her tender, motherly touch; then they once more clost^ 
their eyes and are left only to the care of the Angel of 
Mercy; as he makes his quiet visits to the bedsides of the 
sick and distressed we trust he does not pass our innocent 
sleepers by. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

After publishing a h tter which Myrtle writes to her 
father we shall take rapid strides over the monthr, touch- 
ing only upon the tnost im])ortant points. 

“ Woodland Hospital, 

“Adelaide 8t., New York, 

“August 12, 1891. 

“ My Hear Father: After a partial recovery from the 
shock which the news of Stephen's death gave me, I write 
to you a reply. 

“I realized, by the way Stephen wrote, that he was not 
in very good health, but had never imagined it to bo 
serious. 

“ I felt very bad at not hearing of it in time to even see 
him buried, but trust it was all for the best, some way. 
Hannah said you are well and prospering. J am very glad 
of this. Also that you have a good hand to take his place 
in the store. 

‘‘ I am quite well and enjoy my work very much. It is 
a pleasant place, and I have a comfortable room. I wish 
you wmuld write to me. I shall miss Stephen’s letters. I 
hear from Bonville occasionally through Mrs. Jennings. 
With kind wishes to all, 

“ I am, as ever, yours, 

“Myrtle Stoney." 


172 


^'CONSIDEBA TIONS. 


It is again November, and bis furious breath is begin- 
ning to be felt over all. Myrtle is still at her work. Some 
of the “soldiers’^ have been mustered out,” and two or 
three new ones are mustered in.” They even yet dare 
to unsheath their swords of envy at her occasionally, but 
she has all confidence that they will only prick their own 
hearts in time, so is very little disturbed by them. 

Miss Day is ever in \vaiting for an opportunity to exer- 
cise her full revenge upon Myrtle, for Fred Hastings has 
ventured a couple more calls upon her. More and more 
does the matron tremble in her shoes as the day approaches 
when she is to make with Mr. White the arrangements for 
another year, and which occurs on January 1st. 

Mrs. White has decided to give a real Thanksgiving to 
all the hands, together with a few special friends outside. 

Myrtle meets the event with, perhaps, the most thankful 
heart of all, although it is a sad one. Amelia has gone to 
live with Mr. Dean, to her distaiit home, and she misses 
her too much. However, she makes frequent calls upon. 
Mrs. Freeman, who always turns to her a motherly side. 

For several days prior to the Day of Thanks, odors of 
the savory viands pervade Woodland. Myrtle is informed 
by Mrs. White that it is ex}:)ected to be a real ‘‘dress” 
occasion, and that some of her real, genuine aristocratic 
friends are to be present. The girls talk much and often 
about “what I am going to wear,” apparently to arouse 
Myrtle to her sense of the duty she has in this line; but 
she sa3's nothing, and they are none the wiser. They steal 
occasional “peeks” into her wardrobe, if the door happens 
to stand open, but see nothing there that they are free to 
pronounce “ the gown.” 

Myrtle is saving nearly every dollar of her earnings; so 
by no means is she often or long at the dressmaker’s. In 
her wise conclusion of the matter Myrtle draws from 
the depths of the closet a beautiful brown silk, which she 
has had for several years, and with her bundle in her 
shopping-bag, she sets out to a distant dressmaker’s. 
She gives her orders to have it restored into a neat after- 
noon toilet, with as little expense as the woman can con- 
sistently do it. Thus is the pei-plexing question: “What 
shall I wear?” settled in her own mind in a very short 
time. 

She has sent Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell several nice friendly 


**CONSIDEnA TIONS: 


K3 

letters, each containing a dollar or so, as she saw fit. 
They have all been recognized in the tenderest words of 
thanks. 

It is a question often discussed at Woodland, ‘'What 
does she do with her money? she certainly does not spend 
it for clothes or luxuries!” But in regard to this, as well 
as many other things, they are left to their own curiosity, 
rather than being able to discover. 

Thanksgiving arrives. The patients are all made as 
comfortable as possible, under care of deputies tern., 
and each “soldier’’ in uniform seeks the private parlor 
at the destined hour. Myrtle is among the last to leave 
her charge, and even then does so with a dubious shake 
of the head, indicative of the impropriety of so doing. 

Dressed in the brown silk, which is exquisitely plain and 
graceful, with only the daintiest pearl imaginable, she is 
ushered into the depths of Mrs. White’s parlor, with its 
gayety at high tide. The girls are, as Mrs. White had 
threatened they would be, in full dress. Silks, laces, cut 
glass “ pearls,” bodices, trains semi and deini, make up 
the most important features. 

Everything seems to be here but brains, and the thank- 
ful hearts which the day naturally demands. There are 
four or five outside young gentlemen, and three extra 
ladies. 

As Myrtle bows her good will to those with whom she is 
familiar, she is seized by the arm by her hostess and swept 
to the end of the room with such velocity as to render, 
even an attempt at grace an impossibility — to be presented 
to the strange gentlemen and ladies. 

It being a very dark, bleak day, and approaching even- 
ing, the gas is already beaming from the jets. As Myrtle 
neared Miss Day, to her utter amazement she recognized 
Fred Hastings at her side. The latter rose, altogether too 
politely to suit Miss Day, and extended his hand, and, as 
Myrtle well knew from former testimonies, his hecirt. 

“ Glad to see you once more. Miss Stoney,” said he. 
“ Please share my seat.” He and Miss Day were sitting 
upon a modest couch, and he beckoned Myrtle to his right. 

“ Oh, pshaw! she does not care to sit,” said Mrs. White. 
“I wish to introduce her to these ladies and gentlemen 
over here;” starting for the “amen corner.” 

Messrs. Green, Black and Gray were respectively shown 


174 


**CONSJDBRA TIONS: 


to Myrtle by the combination of all colors (White), then 
on they passed to the ladies. 

Misses Peacock Blue, Crushed Strawberry and Dregs of 
Wine were alike pres'-'iited; then all tiiat remained was to 
become acquainted. Taking back her charge, and seating 
lier by the side of one of the masculine colors, Mrs. White 
left Myrtle and betook herself to more pressing business 
in the rear of the house. The usual ‘‘ perfectly lovely 
“ Oil, simply gorgeous!” Yes; altogether two lovely for 
any use!” with frequent and unbecoming niurmurings 
against this horrid weather,” the tete-a-tete at once set 
up, much to the relief of Mrs. AVhite, who now feels quite 
sure that it will be carried on well. 

Miss Day fidgets, and flips the corners of her daint}' 
liandkerchief with unwonted aptness, in order to keep Mr. 
Hastings from casting his eyes too often in the region of 
Miss Stoney. 

Very soon it is made known that the three invited ladies 
are exceptional masterpieces in the musical line; and Mrs. 
AVhite will be delighted to have Miss Cruslied Strawberry 
favor 113 with one of her best instrumental selections.” 

The Strawberry ” sallies forth, and we will endeavor 
to do her justice by saying she is an extra good performer, 
and has succeeded astonishingly well in displaying the 
bangle that swings from one ring, and the cut-glass 
diamond which sparkles admirably in the other; — you have 
done well. 

Next in order comes “Peacock Blue,” who is the 
noted soloist. It is marvelous how the soft voice bends 
around the little short curves, ascends to the highest 
pinnacle, then with scarcely a jar twists round and in one 
sudden plunge settlesdown intoalittle whijl})ool of sounds, 
where it flutters for awhile, as if it were laboring under 
great difficulties to extricate itself. Yes, it is" simply 
wonderful, so they all say, wlien “Peacock Blue,” after 
an eternity of stress, and varied emphasis upon the last 
note, bows her meek head and pronounces it ready for 
the crown. 

Myrtle makes no manifestations at compliments, and 
finally Miss Day turns to her and asks if she doesn't think 
it magnificent, and freely expresses her surprise at Myrtle's 
inappreciation of music. Upon this Myrtle responds that 
she does admire solo singing very much, being especially 
appreciative of the words. 


^^GOmWFAlATIOIyS:' . 


175 


.Here they all endeavor to recall at least one word of the 
‘‘ tnagnifieent eifort/' but no one is able to do so. They 
all know Myrtle has a rare talent foi- music, for they have 
heard her at odd times warble forth, in company with 
Mrs. White’s piano. This is what embittei's tliem. 

They do not, of course, upon this occasion invite her 
to play or sing, but Mr. Hastings takes the liberty to do 
so, for he has heard her in her own home, and knows her 
to be worthy. 

However Myrtle prefers to be excused,” and after a 
few more gorgeous” displays Mrs. White breaks in upon 
the feast and announces a more substantial one in the 
dining-room. 

Slie at once set off Mr. Hastings with Miss Day, and 
declares that it must be so. After pairing off* the rest as 
well as her ingenious brain would allow, she turned to the 
venerable doctor and affirmed that Myrtle would have to 
go with him. 

The doctor is somewhat aged and a childless widower, 
but there never beat (but one) a more sensible, pious heart 
in human breast, than the one wl)ich thi'obs in his own 
bosom. 

Nothing could have been more congenial to Myrtle, for 
she knows he is the only one — with one or two exceptions — 
that can see further into the occasion than that it is ‘^sim- 
ply lovely.” 

Myrtle proves by her looks that this part of the pro- 
gram is by no means a disappointment to hei', much to the 
surprise and humiliation of her opponents. When all are 
comfortably seated at table, the doctor and Myrtle at one 
head and Mr. and. Mrs. White at the other, Mr. AVljite 
bows to the doctor an invitation to offer the thanks. 

A truly thankful voice it was that went upward, be- 
speaking the sentiments of a grateful heart as well. This 
seems to be the first open or secret indication that it is a 
Thanksgiving day and dinner, and the impression appar- 
(*ntly stays with the guests only until the sanctified ‘•Amen” 
dies on the doctor’s lips. 

'I'he disposition of the meal at once begins, and all soar 
turkeyward with earnestness. Due respect to him and all 
his necessary attachments, and plenty of real, genuine 
fiatteries to Mrs. White, serve to keep her in excellent 
spirits. 


^^OONBTDnnA TIONS. 


m 

Fred Hastings, with his eyes fixed upon Myrtle, tries to 
choke down the bitter morsels with even a smile of Satis- 
faction, but we are quite sure if it were not for the con- 
stant references made by Miss Day to “ these delicious 
tlavors,” etc., that he would forget to swallow the mouth- 
ful which lests composedly within his spacious mouth. 

After a long, lingering obeisance to the swiftly departing 
turkey, during which time tlie doctor and Myrtle chatter 
in a most interesting way about a few quite sensible mat- 
ters, with just enough light-hearted jokes to bVing forth 
from Myrtle a few musical laughs, the company one by one 
draw back in their chairs to await proceedings. 

They have not long to wait, for the waiter soon comes 
in with the “full flushing goblets, all filled as close to 
the brim as propriety will allow. 

He goes first to Mr. and Mrs. White, Avho accept theirs 
with the pleasantest of “ thanks!” Xext he goes to the 
doctor and Myrtle; the former takes his with his good- 
natured “ thank you.” but Myrtle said to her offer: “ Ko, 
thank you.^^ 

All were too deeply engaged in being mannerly,” of 
course, to stare at proceedings, so few took notice of it, 
but the doctor did, and turning to her said: “Do you not 
indulge?” 

To which Myrtle said: “Wine is a mocker! Look not 
upon the wine when it is red.” 

He said ho more, for what could he say? He managed 
to drink a third or so of his share and set the goblet down. 
The rest drained theirs, and in due time, being dismissed, 
found their way to the parlor. 

After a protracted “ settling,” during which time the 
turkey gets conveniently out of their throats, they declare 
that “ Miss Dregs of Wine” must display her lovely alto 
in company with “Peacock Blue,” Messrs. Green and 
Gray, who will make an “elegant quartette.” 

Yes, it did. All sang enormously, and not a single word 
was detected from beginning to end. Yes, it was too ele- 
gant — for any practical use. 

Considerably out of due time, in Myrtle’s estimation, the 
party withdravvs, and Mrs. White’s full-dress occasion is a, 
thing of the past. As soon as Myrtle saw the least signs of 
the breaking up she bowed her gentle good-night and has- 
tened to her room. Fred Hastings had stolen one “ lovely ” 


*^GONSIDERA TIONS:' 17 ';' 

interview with her, fluring wliich time Miss Day sat ami 
pouted, and ground her teeth in a heai’t-rending manner. 

Myrtle reaches lier room, and after binding on the sack- 
cloth and seating herself in ashes, begs God to foigive these 
poor deluded souls, and pleads that Ho will, if consistent 
with His mighty will, yet give them a brain or two. 
After giving thanks from the depths of her martyred soul, 
as well as body, she rises in full dress — yes, clad in the 
glory of His strength and holiness, and in the “righteous- 
ness of saints." 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

After the Thanksgiving diiiner the “ soldiers almost 
completely surrender; it is not from any sense of shame or 
remorse, but because they jjire whipped. They have not, 
however, handed over their swords, and as likely as not 
there may yet be a skirmish. 

It is January, arid another new year comes to the 
funeral of the old one. He buries his predecessor calmly 
and sweetly in the eternal city of dead years. The mid- 
night wind howls forth his solemn funeral march in un- 
checked and mournful strains, and 

"The angel of God 
Upturned the sod, 

And laid the dead year there.” 

This day has witnessed the re-election of the matron to 
her accustomed seat of honor, so the heart of this person- 
age is beating with marked regularity. Tlie.head is lifted 
a tiitle higher than usual as she chances to meet Myrtle. 

At the close of the day Myrtle is assured that it has been 
to her a Happy New Year, as the sweet “ peace which passeth 
all understanding 'Miolds sway over her mind, and to such 
there is naught but happiness. 

She finds, greeting her at her door, a letter. Eagerly 
grasping it (it is Anielia^s writing and she knows it), she 
tears it open and reads: 

“ Hookersville, N. Y., Dec. 29, 1891. 

*' My Dear, Dear Myrtle: I have a mountain of things 


m 


^^GONSIDERA TIONS, 


to say to you to-day, but lest my strength and yOur 
patience may not hold out, I am going first of all to eaytlie 
most important thing. You will be so surprised that you 
will hardly be able to sit up, but do so if yon can. 

“ My husband and I were taking dinner yesterday at the 
boarding-honse (we occasionally do take a meal here, to 
make my work a bit easier), and across from us at the 
table sat two colored gentlemen of about fifty years’ of 
age, I should say. They were very respectable looking 
and appearing, and we were somewhat interested in their 
conversation, as it was upon the topic of slavery. Finally, 
the younger of the two, as I took him to be, said: 

‘‘ ‘I could forgive all, and would try to forget, if I could 
only find my mother.^ 

‘‘ Hero the tears gushed into his eyes, and I was at once 
aroused to sympathy for him; after awhile I ventured to 
ask his name. He said' 

‘ The name which was given me by my master was 
Richard Joy, but I know my real name was Richard Bax- 
ter. I remembered my first name to be Richard, and I 
still iiave iu my possession a little handkerchief, with the 
words ‘ Phehe Baxter ’ embroidered in one corner. This 
my mother gave me when I was a very small boy, but I re- 
member it.’ 

“ ‘ How old were you when taken from your mother?’ 
Mr. Dean asked. 

‘ I was about four, I think.’ 

I was so overcome with surprise that I could not keep 
still another minute. 1 of course remembered the sad 
story I had heard you tell about your cook, Phebe Baxter, 
so I said; 

“ ‘ What will you say when T tell you I know of a Mrs. 
Phebe Baxter?’ 

‘‘ The tears began to run down his cheeks, and begot up, 
and reaching across the table for my hand, said: 

“ ‘ Oh, my soul ! I don’t know what I would say! Do you 
really and ti'uly know such a person!’ 

‘‘ ^ No,’ said I, '1 do not know her, but 1 have a frieml 
in New York City who does. Phebe Baxter is a cook in 
my friend’s father’s house.’ 

“ ‘It is my mother! 1 know it is! Do tell me where T 
may find her! 1 have been hunting for forty years, and at 
last my search proves not in vain!’ 


**GONSIDEliA TIONS: 


179 


*‘‘Slie is in Bonville, Ohio; but I will give you my 
friend's address, and you can go to her and be assured it 
is the right person/ 

“ ‘ Oh, I know it is,’ said he. 

I wrote your address upon a paper at the cdose of the 
meal. He blessed me with his whole heart and both hands, 
and siiid he would see you in less than a week. So allow 
me to introduce you to Richard Baxter, and you must 
farther him ou to liis poor old broken-heai’ted motheid 

“He said he was a married man, and had two children; 
that he was in a good business, and had a small home. 

“ 1 have already said enough, so conclude by saying we 
are happy, and as a team work well together. Hope some 
time to see you here. Go and see mamma as often as you 
can. Your true friend, 

“Amelia Dean.” 

Myrtle is so overjoyed at the intelligcnee which this 
letter contains that she almost foi’gets she ever had a 
sorrow. She must now prepare to meet Mr. Baxter, and 
look for him every minute until he comes! 

She has not long to wait, for just three days after the 
news from Amelia reaches her, she is notified that there is 
a colored gentleman in the parlor who Avishes to see her. 

She summons Mrs. White to take charge of her work, 
and goes in her nurse’s attire to the parlor. 

As she enters lie rises with a very modest and reserved 
air and does not offer his hand; but she is not to be de- 
})rived of a hearty greeting by the lack of hand-shaking. 
She went up to him and said: 

“Yes, I give you my hand. I know your name is 
Richard Baxter, and I am Myrtle Stoney.” His grasp was 
an emphasis to his voice, which trembled with emotion. 

“ God bless you, Miss Stoney.” Here he wept like a 
child, but after regaining partial control of himself said: 

“ I have come to have you direct me to my long-lost 
mothah. I have been info’med by Mrs. Dean that you 
can do so.” 

“ Yes, sir; we have had a Mrs. Phebe Baxter for cook in 
my father’s liouse ever since I was a child; and J am now 
past twenty-three. When I left her, the last of April, she 
was still at her post; and with her own hand prepared 
for me the lunch with which to supply me on my journey 
here,” 


180 


*^CONSID ERA TIONS: 


** Is she in good health?’’ 

‘‘ Yes, she is quire well, but she works too hard for a 
person of her age.” 

“ Well, she has done all the wo’k she ever will, for I am 
going to take her to my home.” 

1 am so glad of it! I have long wished for some change 
to come to the servants in my father’s house.” 

“Why? He surely don’t oppress them?” said Mr. 
Baxter inquiringly. 

“ Yes, sir. I will be honest with you and say he does. 
What is your business, Mr. Baxter?” 

“ I am fo’man of a livery-barn, in Paterson, H. J. We 
have an extensive business; I have a comfortable little 
home; wife, and two children, both of whom are grown to 
manhood; they are married and settled close by us. Each 
of them have one chil’; so gran’ma Phebe ’ll have some- 
thing to entertain her.” 

“ Is it possible! It seems almost too good to be true. 
But let me say to you to be a little careful how you break 
such glorious news to her; be as gentle as you can. I do 
not know — such good news as that, to one of her old age, 
may kill her.” 

“ Oh, yes; I will. I’m not going to rush it upon her 
like a thuiideh-storm, but let the showeh be like a refresh- 
ing rain.” 

“Of course; I know you will. Mr. Baxter, I wish you 
would not, to my father, use my name, as connected with 
the matter; that is, would be careful not to express my 
pleasure in it; of course you can tell how you heard of it, 
and that you called upon me, but my father is already not 
well pleased with me, because I left home and a few other 
things, and I do not wish to enhance his feelings in this 
direction.” 

“ You shall have your wish, and a dozen more like it, if 
yon desire.” 

At this point, the dinner is announced, and Myrtle said: 

“ Now, Mr. Baxter, you must go to dinner with me. It 
is ready.” 

“ Oh, no, Miss Stoney! I couldn’t eveh think of that! I 
will just step oveh to the eating-house that I see oveh 
there, an’ eat my dinnah.” 

“No, Mr. Baxter! I shall not listen to it! I wish to 
introduce you to the proprietor, and the doctor; then I 


**CONSIDEEA TIONS, 


181 


sliull eojoy your company to dinner. This way; it is 
ready.” 

Mr. Baxter could say nothing more in opposition, for 
her gentle command led him immediately to the dining- 
room. As they entered the doctor greeted him witii a 
cordial ‘‘How do you do? very glad to meet you! Be 
seated,” kindly drawing out the extra cliair next to iiia 
own. 

As the “ soldiers” filed up to the table, one by one, now 
a smirk, now a suppressed giggle, now an imposing wink, 
j)assed from eye to eye; but Myrtle was expecting this, so 
was not in the least embarrassed. 

After the girls were all standing about the table, each 
with a hand comfortably poised upon the back of her chair. 
Myrtle said: 

“ Ladies, this is my friend, Mr. Baxter, of New Jersey.” 

Mr. Baxter bowed a polite and friendly recognition to 
tlie ladies, and at the same time his eyes glanced around 
the table, taking them all under recognition at the same 
bow. This was done so politely that they were all 
ashamed to offer any more of their sarcasms, and after 
becoming seated all attended quite strictly to business. 

As M^'rtle undid her napkin she said: 

“Doctor, Mr. Baxter^s mother has been cook in my 
father’s family ever since I was a small child. He has 
concluded to let her remain at the work no longer, and is 
on his way after her.” 

“Indeed,” said the doctor; “that is a long time to 
remain in one house. Your father will probably miss her 
much.” 

“Yes, he will. She has been one of the few faithful 
servants, and will surely reap the rich reward.” 

Myrtle, Mr. Baxter and the doctor conversed freely, and 
with much interest, upon matters in general, and at the 
close of the meal Myrtle left the table, not so rnucli 
stronger for having done justice to the dinner as to her 
friend, Mr. Baxter : and siie felt truly repaid as he poured 
out his gratitude from his large, mellow eyes, as well as 
with his voice. 

As they were talking for a few minutes more in the 
parlor, Mr. White came in, and Myrtle said: 

“Mr. White, allow me to introduce to you my friend, 


182 


‘ ^CONSIDEHA TIONS: 


Mr. Baxter, of New Jersey. His mother has cooked my 
victuals for me ever since I was large enough to eat them.” 

“ Very glad, indeed, Mr. Baxter, to meet you. Have 
you been to dinner?” 

^‘Yes, sir. Miss Stoney insisted upon it, that I must 
take dinnah here. Thank you, 1 have enjoyed it much.” 

“That is right, I am glad you did. But I must go to 
my dinner. Make yourself comfortab’e, Mr. Baxter,” 
said Ml’. White, taking his leave. As lie passed out Im 
could not fail to hear the tender “thank you ” once nior<', 

“ Well, Miss Stoney, I mus’ be on my way. Now, if 
you will be so kind as to give me a bit of instruction in 
regard to the place, Bonville, and how I may know your 
house, I will be obliged to you.” 

“You cannot miss the place. Father is well known 
there, and any one can direct you to the place. But let 
me show you a picture of the house and store.” Saying 
this she skipped to her room and brought down the photo- 
graph of her home. 

“Probably there be few like it iirthe place.” 

“It is the largest and best house in the town. Now let 
me say to you that I cannot assure yon of a very cordial 
reception by my father, but hope, for my sake, you will 
overlook all, Mr. Baxter.” 

“Well, Miss Stoney, it will make no material difference 
to me. I am after my old mother, and can overlook any- 
thing only to see her. I do not know whether we shall 
come back this way or not.” 

“Oh, I wish you could. You will not be more than 
three days away, will you?” 

“No, ma^lm. 1 inns' gt-t back as soon as I can, for I 
have business that needs my attention.” 

“ God bless you, and your dear mother, is my prayer, 
[f you are not permitted to come back by New York, you 
must write to me and tell me all about it the first minute 
you have to spare, for I shall be very anxious to hear.” 

“ Yes, I will. Now, Miss Stoney, I hope we may meet 
again soon. Can you not come to Paterson and see us 
some time?’* 

“ Oh, yes; of course I can. That will be just glorious! 
1 will^come the very first opportunity I have.” 

“ You let us know when yon ai’c coming, an’ we will be 
in numbaluonc shape to see you. Good-by,” reaching out 
Ills hand. 


‘ • OONSIDEUA TIONS. ” 


isn 

‘^Good-by. Now take good care of Pliebe, and I eball 
see you some time soon.” 

After a hearty liand-shake, and a few joyful tears, sin d 
on both sides, Mr. Baxter took his leave en route for Bnu- 
ville. Myrtle went joyfully to her charge. 

‘‘Thank God; one of my earnest prayers has been 
answered I” 

This strengthens her faith, and sweetly does the echo of 
her solemn resolution: “I will engage in no dance until 
in jubilee I see my people free!” resound in her ears. 

AVe leave her for awhile at Woodland, deeply engrossed 
in prayer and work, and will follow Bichard Baxter to 
Bonville. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Swiftly does the old iron-horse convey “ my boy ” 
over the broad Empire State, and nearer and nearer does 
he come to his lost mother. 

The thought to him, as jMyrtle had expressed it, seems 
too good to be true, amf yet he knows it is so. 

As he crosses the Ohio line, he begins to inhale the 
sweet breath of what he is pleased to imagine to be the 
long-expected millennium, as it sweeps across his anxious 
cheek. 

“ Yes,” said he to himself, “it is the yeah of jubilee, 
at least to us; for nothing short of this could ever have 
set me on track of my mothei-.” 

The swifter he sweeps over the beautiful old IBickeyo 
State, whose fields are as yet coveied by a thin sheet of 
its wititer mantle, which tenderly bespeaks “ the gi’eat fes- 
tival of peace,” the moi’e is lie coniirmed in his oi)inion. 

Too much enwrapped in thought, he gives but little 
heed to anything but places and circumstances, and 
only ventures to inquire occasionally: 

“ How far is it to Bonville?” 

In response to one very eager question of this sort he 
hears the following: 

“ The next stop, sir, will land you there.” 

In good time does the smoking steed draw up to the 


184 


•‘CONSIDBRA TlONSr 


modest station, from whose front Mr. Baxter reads, in 
bold letters: > 

BON VILLE.’’ 

-Not long is he in dismounting and seeing the faithful 
train move off, with “ all aboard to the few travelers who 
were standing upon the platform awaiting its arrival. 

Mr. Baxter sees his way clear up-town,^’ and even 
before ho enters the ^^gate^' recognizes the house of Mr. 
Stoney. 

He can hardly restrain his steps from those identical 
to little children as they eagerly hasten to greet the 

mammas from whom they may have been absent for a 
short, yet how long, a time. In the case of Eichard Baxter 
it cannot be called short only as compared with eternity. 
Here comes to him the consolation: 

For a small moment have I forsaken thee, but with 
great mercies will I gnther thee.*^ (Isaiah liv. 7.) 

But Eichard is alieady turning tin? huge knocker to the 
closely-shut door of Stoney Mansion. His plea for admis- 
sion is answered by Pauline, who, with her clever “ Good- 
afternoon; walk in,"’ leads the stranger into the parlor. 

Never have the eyes of Eichard Baxter beheld a more 
beautiful one. He thankfully accepts the huge upholstered 
chair which Pauline shoves before the crackling fire. After 
he is seated he says: 

May I see Mr. Stoney, please?” 

Yes, sir; he is at the store; I will call him.” 

Soon Mr. Stoney steps into the parlor, with face too red 
and stomach too large to suit Mr. Baxtei*, but he looks 
upon it as charitably as possible and rises gently. 

“This is Mr. Stoney, I suppose?” 

After noting the bow of “ it is,” he proceeds: 

“ My name is Eichard Baxtah. I learn that you have 
in your house a lady by the same name, who has served as 
cook foil a number of yeahs. I would be ])leased to see 
her, if you would have no serious objections. I think she 
is a relative of mine.” 

“Yes; I have got an old colored woman here by that 
name, but she is so plaguy near used up now that she can 
hardly come under the liead of cook. I have no objections 
to your seeing her as I know of, although I never believed 


GOKISIDEIIA TIONS. 


185 


much in this idea of running around trying to scrape up 
relationship to some one we never saw. One generally has 
relatives enough that are at least near enough to have 
already formed his acquaintance.^^ 

Mr. Stoney said this with such a stiffness and importance 
that Richard trembled a bit, but soon rallied and said: 

“I am sorry to displease you in this respect, but I very 
much desire to see Mrs. Bax tab.’’ 

I will send her in,’’ said Mr. Stoney, going out without 
the least sign of civilit3\” 

Richard sat so sad and yet joyful in his chair that he 
could hardly endure; however, he was obliged to endure 
for a long time. 

N’ever before in her long stay in this household had 
Phebe been called into the parlor to greet or meet friend 
or foe, and, as may be imagined, it was of no little moment 
to her. 

Mr. Stoney found her in the dish-water and said: 

'MVell, Phebe, there is some stiff nigger in the parlor 
who wishes to see Now, before you go in do, for 

pity’s sake, rig up in a presentable shape.” 

Wants to see me! Fob de deah Lo’d’s sake, wlio on 
dis blessed earf can poss’bly be wantin’ to see dis Phebe 
Bax tall?” 

do not know. Go along and find out for yourself.” 

Mr. Stoney goes to the store, and Phebe, calling Pauline, 
tells her of the circumstances. 

Oh, Pauline, what ivou’d you do? I sha’n’t know what 
in de wo’ld to say or liow to act.” 

''Just put on your alpaca dress, and go in just like the 
lady you are, and meet your caller. You will beat Hannah 
'entertaining,’ I know you will.” 

At this they both laughed, and Phebe started to her 
room with Pauline following on, who is to assist her in 
making the toilet. 

The "alpaca” is taken from its box for the first time 
in many a year. The persistent wrinkles are shaken out 
as much as they will agree to bo, and_ it is carefully 
arranged upon the old form, which is so much emaciated, 
since its last appearance, that it iiangs in anything but 
real graceful folds. But it is the best they can do. The 
old silk kerchief, yellow with age, is pinned about the 
throat by the deft hand of Pauline, and Phebe descends 
to the parlor of Stoney Mansion " to receive!” 


186 


‘ ^CONSIIJEBA TIDES. 


As she carefiillj opened the door, and stole in, as if she 
is scarcely sure that it is quite proper for her to enter, she 
saw the gentlemanly form rise to greet her. He said: 

Is tins Phebe Baxtah?’' 

Yes, sah; dat is my name.^’ 

‘‘ Please be seated, said he, vacating his chair for her, 
whicli she accepted, and at the same time said half aloud: 

“ Dat is de softest seat I ebersee. Ps tired 

‘‘My name is Baxtah,” said he. “I was in town, and 
iiearing of you, thought I would call upon you.” 

“ Ps glad ye did. Dah was a good many Baxtahs in de 
wo’ld at one time, but I didiiH kno’ but dey’s all dead ^foh 
dis time.” 

“No; that is rny name. I am from New Jersey.” 

“Be ye? You’s got a pow'ful ways ^vay from home!” 

“Do you like your work here, Mrs. Baxtali?” 

“No, sah; Ps gettiiP altogetheh too oV to wo’k so hard.” 

“ How long have you been here?” 

“ Oh, de LoM only knows jes’ how long '’tis! buPs nealds 
I can calcdate it’s well ni’ on to twenty yeahs; mebby ’tis 
more eben dan dat.” 

“ You must be a pretty good hand to remain in the same 
place so long.” 

“ Oh, yes, I gues’ I hab been, but Ps gittin’ oP now, aiP 
it’s woh’iti’ me now to kno’ what’ll come ob me.” 

Here Kichard, unable longer to “ endure,” took the 
handkercliief from Ids pocket and unwrapping the paper, 
rose and went up to the old “grieved spirit.” Holding it 
to her in such a way as to plaiidy reveal the lettering in the 
coiuier, he said: 

‘- Dill you eveh see that?” 

“ Oh, my God! Can it bo possible! dis is my deah boy! 
vouh name’s Bichard Baxtah! an’ Pm youh muddah, I 
kno’ 1 be!” 

She drew him into her lap, and he whispered in her ear: 

“ Yes, it is even sol” 

After quieting her excitement by gentle means, and 
assuring her that he had heard of her in New York State, 
and that he had come the entire distance for her, and that 
he was going to take her to his home to live; of his chil- 
dren, and their children, etc., she was so weak she could 
hardly sit up. 

“ Oh, de Lo’d be praised! 1 hab libed to see de salva^ 


^'GONSWERM'lONSr^ 187 

tion ob him; now may my soul go out iu dis sweet 
peace/’ 

^‘Now, mothah, keep up as best you can, and we will 
soon start. I will tell you all as we go.” 

‘‘Oh, Richard, Fs ’fraid ’twill kill me, it’ll be so good, 
mebby I can’t stan’ it. Oh, vis, I can, too! What in dis 
wo’ld be I talkin’ ’bout.” 

Here Mr. Baxter sent again for Mr. Stoney. As the 
latter came in with the same amount and more of dignity, 
he was met half-way across the room by Mr. Baxter, who 
thus add I'essed him: 

Mr. Stoney, Mrs. Baxtah is my mothah. I was taken 
from her at the age of four yeahs, and never have we seen 
each other until to-day. I wish to take her to my New 
Jersey home.” 

“Maybe she is your mother and maybe she is not. 
There is no assurance in the matter,” said Mr. Stoney, in 
a grntf voice. 

“ Yes, sir, there is,” said Mr. Baxter. 

Me then showed him the handkerchief and told him its 
story; how he had got on track of her; that he had seen 
Myrtle the day before, and altogether he furnished satis- 
factory evidence of the truth. 

Mr. Stoney then turned to I’heho: 

“ How is it? Do yon care lo go?” 

“ Ob course I does! Richard is my own boy an’ 1 kno’s 
it, ail’ do you s’pose 1 wan’ to wo’k my eyes out ob rny head 
here, when [ can hal) a bit ob ease vit in dis ol’ hard 
wo’ld?” 

“ Well, you are getting too old to be of ' much service to 
me, anyway. I guess it will be money in my jiocket. 
How much do I owe you?” taking out his great leather 
pocketbook pressed too full for convenience with bills. 

Pliebe counted up, and declared that the fifty cents per 
week since the last payment would come to ten dollars. 
This he threw into her lap and left the I’oom. Returning 
in a few minutes with Pauline, he said: 

“ Phebe in her old age has got so high-toned that she 
is not going to stay with us any longer. Get her ready, 
will you?” 

Pauline was so surprised that she did not know what to 
say or do, but Phebe soon put her at ease: 

“ Pauline, dis is my deali boy, Richard. He got on my 
track an’ foun’ me, an’ is goin’ to take me to lib foreber 


188 


^^GONSIDERA TIONS. 


wid him an’ lus wife, an’ his two boys an’ deir wives, an^ 
deir two babies.” 

Here her breath gave out, and Pauline laughed as she 
said : 

There will be a big houseful of \"ou. Is it true, Mr. 
.Baxter? Are yon her son?” 

Yes, ma’am.” Then the little handkerchief history 
was given to Pauline in a brief outline. Pauline then led 
Phebe to her room, and while they are packing the few 
articles of Phebe’s earthly possessions we will introduce 
Hannah (or, rather, she introduces herself) to Mr. Baxter. 

As she goes into the parlor, not knowing of the presence 
of Ml-. Baxter, she dodges back in 'horror and disgust at 
finding an African there. 

*^Who is this personage — may I ask?’N 

‘‘Yes, ma’am. My name is Bax tab. 1 am Phebe Bax- 
tah’s son, and have come to take her to my home in New 
Jersey.” 

“ How do you know you are her son?” 

“ We have identified each other in a very satisfactory 
way, and it is true.” 

“ Does Mr. Stoney know about it?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“ Did he consent?” 

“ Yes, quite readily.” 

“ Well, Pheb’ is getting too old for any use any way.” 
Here Mrs. Springer brushed by Mr. Baxter, and with a 
very self-conscious and important air went to Phebe’s room. 

“I am coming right in,” said she, boldly pushing open 
the door, which stood ajar an inch or so. I do not 
believe one word of this trash about that being your son, 
Pheb’; you are being duped!” 

“No, I am not! Don’t you s’pose 1 kno’ my own flesh 
an’ blood! It’s my long-los’ boy!” 

Hannah wheels and leaves the room. 

Last of all, Phebe took from the depths of the little box 
her old cloth money-bag, and carefully stowing with its 
present contents (her savings of years; in all five hundred 
dollars) the treasured ten dollars*^ additional, slipped it into 
her bosom. 

“Dar Pauline; nobody’s goin’ to get a ceiit of dat ’cept 
my boy!” 

After the satchel is packed they descend to the kitchen. 


^'CONSIDERA TI0N8. 


}89 


Paulino insists upon putting up a lunch for two, much 
against the best judgment of Pliebe— *‘foh Massah Stouey 
won’t like it a bit.” 

“ I don’t care,” said Pauline, whether he likes it or 
not. You are not going away hungry.” 

Here Phebe, noticing that- her pan of bread was ready 
for' the tins, said: 

“ While you fix up the dinnah, Pauline, I’ll jest mold 
out dis bread.” 

Pauline laughed, but Phebe pinned a towel around her 
waist to protect the precious ‘^alpaca,” and went into the 
bread without the least reserve. While thus engaged she 
said: 

‘‘ What in dis wo’P ’ll come ob Stoney, an’ the rest ob 
you. Hanna’ can’t cook, an’ yon can’t do it all.” 

[ know of no other way, only for him to get some one 
else.” 

Soon the huge loaves were peacefully reposing before the 
fire, and Phebe, followed by Pauline, with lunch basket in 
liand, took a long, last look at the corner which has so 
long held her captive, and sought the parlor and her boy. 

‘‘ Well, Richard, 1 g’ess you begun to Pink we neber was 
cornin’, but dar was so much to see to, an’ to fix up. I 
had to take care ob my bre’d too, fob P^e ’fraid ’twould 
sour ’fore Pauline got at it. But I’s ’bout ready now.” 
At this the poor old frame and. voice shook with emotion 
and excitement and fatigue. 

Just sit down a minute and rest motheh. You are too 
tired to start now. I have sent for a hack; it will be here 
in a few minutes.” 

The old lady sank into the. cushions, and all at once 
exclaimed: 

“Oh, wheh’s Joe! I fohgot him. Poo’ oP soul. Go 
an’ fetch ’im in,” addressing Pauline, who went at once 
for him. 

When the story was told to Joe he was so surprised, so 
joyful for Phebe, yet sad at the thought of losing her, 
and all put together, that he just cried and laughed, and 
laughed and cried. 

“ Why, Phebe! what in the blessed world ’ll ever become 
of me— us I mean — poor mortals here! We’ll starve to 
death, with no one to cook a mouthful of victuals fur us.” 

“ Stoney ’ll hab to set Hanna’ to wo’k,” said Phebe, 


100 


^^CONSIDERA TIONSr 


laugliiug and rolling her great eyes at Pauline as if to see 
it' this plan met with her approval, or els’ git ^noveh 
han’; mebby both.” 

But the hackrnan is at the door, and Richard carefully 
lifts his mother into the easiest seat, after ma?iy heart- 
rending hand-shakes and ^‘good-bys” to Pauline and Joe, 
and they drive off. 

Hannah, in her room, peeps out after them from between 
the shutters; while Mr. Stoney, in the store, does not even 
take a peep of farewell at the old faithful servant ” who has 
cooked him three meals each day, and all the extra lunches 
for him and his, for the last twenty years. Ingratel” 

We now find our friends at the quiet little station, where 
they, with the two or three other passengers, wait for the 
train. As they sit upon the benches, too much engaged in 
sacred meditation to say much, we see Pliebe first glance 
in every direction, to be sure that no one, except Richard, 
is witness to her proceedings, then, turning her back, slips 
lier liand in her bosom, and taking out tlm cloth bag, takes 
from it the uppermost bill (the one last given her by Mr. 
Stoney — the result of twenty weeks of hard work), and 
hands it to Richard. 

Take dat an' b’y my ticket.” 

‘‘No, mother,^put your money back. I have enough to 
ge‘ ns home and more, too.” 

He was too mucii of a gentleman to inquire into her 
financial affairs, and by no means does he do so by asking 
the questions, which to many would have been the all-in” 
portant ones: “Is that all you have?” or “ How much 
have you?” 

As she tucked it back into its safe at his request, she sai<l 
to liim, opening the sack sufficiently to reveal bills neatlv 
rolled up: 

“ See, Ts got a little to sho’ fob my twenty years’ serbice 
in de wo’l\” 

“Yes, motheh. Well, we hope you may have a few — 
or many — yeahs now of rest. Don’t take out your money 
again while on the way.” 

We put them on board the east-bound express, and while 
they are making the trip let us return to Stoney Mansion 
for a general survey of matters there. 


‘ ‘ CON SID ERA TIONS. 


191 


CHAPTER XXV. 

About an hour after Mr. Baxter and Phebe left Stoney 
Mansion — it was bordering. u pen supper-tinie — Mr. Stoney 
went into the house and called Hannaii into the parlor. 

‘‘Well, Hannah, what do you think we better dor Can 
you and Pauline get along with the woik, do you think; 
or shall I have to get some one?” 

“ Why, Thomas Stoney! 1 will try and not get entirely 
out of patience with you for even intimating such a thing 
as I and Pauline getting along alone! You know, Thomas, 
that I am scarcely able some days to climb the stairs to my 
room. Xo, Thomas; I am able to do but little. 

“ Pardon me! I know^ it was presumptuous in me, but 
I had to say something. 1 do not know where to look for 
a cook.^^ 

“Well, I do not know eithei*. Tdie woman in themoon 
knows as much about Bonville cooks as I do.” 

“ ddieie is Jane Harper,” said he; “a woman who has 
left her husband, and they say she is obliged to scratch 
mighty hard to make the payments on that chicken-coop 
of a ho.ise she has bought. Maybe I could get her.” 

“ You probably would have to pay her considerable, 
would you not?” 

•‘Yes; that is the plague of it! I guess when pay-day 
comes I shall wish Phebe back.” 

“ Perha])s you will before — when supper-time comes, for 
instance. 1 begin .to feel as if some supper would set tol- 
eiably well on my stomach now.” 

“I will go and see if Pauline can get the supper.” 
Mr. Stoney went to the kitchen, where he found Pauline 
mechajiically engaged in arranging the newly-baked bread 
— the last of Phebe^s bread they would ever eat— upon the 
side -table. 

“Pauline, are we going to have any supper to-night?” 

“I do not know whether vou expect anv or not; but I 
do.” 

“ Can you get supjier for us all? 1 will get a new hand 
as soon as I can.” 

“ Yes, sir; if you will pay me for it.” 

- “ How much extra do you want?” 

' Twenty-five cents, if you please.” 


m 


• ‘ CON SID ERA TIONS. 


^*All right. There's your, money;" tossing a silver 
quarter at her. ^*I will go and see if I can get Jane 
Harper." 

Pauline, after carefully putting the money into her 
little purse, proceeded to fulfill the engagement, and get 
the supper. Mr. Stoney walks to the cottage of Jane 
Harper, whom he finds bending over the wash-tub, fin- 
ishing up her day's wash. 

Mrs. Harper," said he, standing in the little door, 
with hat in hand, my cook suddenly left me to-day, and 
I have come to see if I can get you to take the job." 

What do you pay?" 

“ Oh, guess I will have to pay about what it is worth, if 
I get anybody." 

‘MVell, what is it worth? How many have you in the 
family?" 

‘‘Oh, there will be seven or eight of us about all the 
time, besides quite a number of comers and goers gener- 
ally." 

“ What are you willing to pay?" 

“ I should think a couple of dollars a week might be 
fair pay. AVe have everything to do with, so the work 
will be easier." 

“ Well, you don't get me for two dollars a week! nor 
three. I'd rather wash for a living." 

“ AVhat will yon do it for?" 

“ For four dollars a week I will go.'* 

“ AVell, I will look elsewhere/' said he, and walked away, 
stovepipe hat towering in air, as if it were endeavoring to 
make a comfortable })assage for the smoke that rolled 
from his cigar, thus protecting people from being insulted 
by it by conveying it above their heads. 

“ 1 guess he will be quite smart when he gets a woman 
to do that work for him for two dollars a week," said 
Jane, as she again delved into the depths of tub and 
suds. 

About two hours after, Mr. Stoney presented himself 
once more at the door of Mrs. Harper and said: 

“Say, don’t you think you can come for awhile a 
liitle cheaper, just to accommodate me, till I can have a 
chance to look around for some one?" 

“Thank you! I am ’commodating Jane Harper these 
days; and she will receive m^ attention before Thomas 


^^CONSIDERA TI0N8. 


193 


Stoney, or any one else. If yon want me bad enough to 
p<iy me what it is worth, and what I ask, I will go and 
slay a year.’’ 

Mr. Stoney scratched his liead, and considered the big 
two hundred and eight dollars, but lie knew of no other 
way. He had been home and eaten his supper, and 
Pan line had said she would have to charge him twenty-five 
jents for every meal she cooked, which would count up 
mighty fast.” 

“ Well, if you’li come to-morrow, we will call it a 
bargain.” 

‘‘ Yes, sir. I’ll be there in time to get the dinner.” 

Mr. Stoney, with a sour “good-night, walked olf. “If 
it didn’t take so infernal much to live,” said he, grum- 
bling to himself, “a man might lay by a little.” 

He announced to Hannah, as he returned, that he had 
engaged the services of June Harper, and that “ she is to 
come to-morrow.” 

“How much are you to pay her?” asked Hannah after 
him, as he hastened to the store. This question he did 
not hear, so Hannah was obliged to put in the night with- 
out finding out the full particulars. It is probable that 
she did not sleep well. 

The next day, as agreed upon, Jane Harper is at the 
door ringing admittance to Thomas Stoney’s kitchen. 
Pauline conducts her thither, and now, while she is be- 
coming initiated into its whys and wherefores, we will 
overtake that east-bound ex[)ress train, which yesternight 
bore Phebe and her boy away. 

It is now nearing its time to the New Jersey line. It 
is unnecessary to say that the trip thus far has been the 
pleasantest that ever was taken — for Phebe knows it is. 

She is delighted with the views she beholds; and the 
“ bery ide’ of undressin’ an’ g<)in’ to bed on de ca’s” is so 
ridiculous to her that she can not keep from laughing 
every time she thinks of it. We feel safe in saying that, 
had it not been for the sake of the “ alpaca,” she could 
never have been persuaded to do so. Several times in the 
night Pichard was awakened by the curtains of his berth 
being pulled a trifle apart, and the dear old motherly voice 
falling like dew upon him: 

“ Richard be you he’eh yit? can you sleep? I can’t 
ha’ll ly shet my eyes! I’d a bit rader had set up ail de hul 
night long, an’ vis’ted wid you!” 


194 


CONSIDER A TIONS:^ 


'‘No, motliah; it is bettab for yon to rest. Yes, I am 
he’eli, and sleeping like a log; you go back to yoiili bed 
and sleep/^ 

Phebe is glad when the morning comes, and is the very 
first to don her “ alpaca,’^ and peering once more into the 
berth of her son, said: “Come, Richard, do git up, an’ 
ter me whe’h I can git soine wateh to wash in. Fs dirty 
as a black pig in de sty.” 

Richard dressed at once, and conducted his mother to 
the toilet-room. 

“ Foh de deah Lo\Fs sake! I neber once s^posed dat dar 
was sech ^commodations on trains of ca’s. Why they be 
jest gran’!” 

After the toilets, berth, etc., were made, Richard stopped 
at the first place, and got iiot coffee and sandwiches for 
their breakfast. 

“AYhy, Richard Baxtah! I neber once s’posed Fd see a 
drop ob coffee till I got home.” 

Richard laughed, as he noted how freely and uncon- 
sciously his mother spoke of “ home.” 

After the breakfast had been disposed of, they talked 
much of their experiences in this hard world. "Richard 
gave his mother a clear description of his slave-life, which 
kept him, he said, until the war, entirely within the state 
of Virginia. He married his wife (also a slave then) when 
he was eighteen years old; but saw but little of her until 
after the war. ’J’hey then, in their freedom, went to New 
Jersey, where they had since resided. 

Their son, Fred, is now twenty-eight years old, and lives 
one mile from them. He has a little daughter “Phebe,” 
who will be pleased to get acquainted with her great-gran ’- 
ma and namesake. 

John Baxter, the younger son, is twenty-five; lives about 
two miles away; has a big, fat baby boy, whose name, of 
course, is “Richard, Jr:” 

The hardships of slave-life are too sad to have a place in 
this jubilant trip, so they refrain to a great extent from 
mentioning them, and we will do so even more tlian the 3 ^ 
Phebe tells him that when she found that they were very 
liable to be parted soon — she and her boy — she "thought of 
the little handkerchief scheme as being the only possible 
means of ever uniting them in this life; so she sought 
3very possible opportunity of learning to spell and write 


^^CONSIDERA TIONS:* 


195 


lier uame, au-d at last sticce^ided in rudely making it, witli 
coarse black thread, upon the clotl). This she slipped 
into Richard’s bosom, and secured it by pinning it to his 
little shirt, hiding the })in neath a fold in the sa'rne. She 
then whispered in his ear: 

‘‘ Keep dat, Richard, as long as you lib.” The circum- 
stance and quiet exhortation made an undying elfect n[)ou 
his young mind, and he never forgot. She prayed God’s 
blessing upon her humble, earnest eflort to claim her boy, 
and had never ceased since to pray that he might be 
restored to her, in the next vvoi’ld, if not in this. God has 
answered I 

Richard said that it had had many hairbreadth escapes 
from being snatched from its consecrated burial place, in 
his young days, and had not God Himself been guarding 
it, it certainly would have been. Truly — 

“ God moves in a mysterious way, 

His wonders to perform.” 

He has carried it next his heart all his life, as its ap- 
pearance now indicates. But, having always kept it well 
wra[)ped about for protection, it is not — at least to [)a)'ties 
(joncerned — a despisable relic. 

'J’hus do the morning hours glide as swiftly away as the 
train on which they are whirling — toward home! Only 
Phebe Baxter ever knew how her heart beat with 
emotion as the conductor, stickiiig his head in at the 
door, cried: 

“ Next stop, Paterson!” 

Oh, Richard! be we so neah dar ’ready? ’shaw! I hab 
not had haf a ride yit.” 

Yes; the next stop will land us at home. We are 
almos’ there.” 

Phebe began gathering up her satchel and shawl, and 
soon the old engine, with a ferocious voice, squealed out: 

“ Clear de tia’k fob Phebe Baxtah an’ her boy, Richard! 
fob dey’s got home.” 

At least this is what Phebe supposed it said. 

As they descended the steps Richard’s wife caught him 
by the arm. 

‘‘ Why, Laura, are you here? Didn’t I make good time? 
L iura, this is ouh mothah, Phebe Baxtah !” said he, taking 
an arm of each, and drawing them face to face. 


196 


^'GONISIDERA TIONS. 


^‘ Motliah Baxtali, bow’d you do! It seems ba’d tbat 
we nebah met ’fob,” said Laura, grasping the band of 
Phebe, and kissing the old furrowed brow. 

■‘‘Yis; but de wab is now ober fob eber an’ fob sbu’. 

I liop’d dat after de wab ob thi’ty yeabs ’go wais obei', we 
inigbt meet (me an’ my boy), but I had not yitlos’ liope.” 

Well, let us go home. I know you be tired and 
hungry,” said Laura, leading the way to the carriage, 
which stood waiting for passengers. Eicliard helped his 
wife and mother in; be said he could save a quaider by 
walking, so be went the long half-mile oil foot while the 
ladies rode to the Baxter cottage. 

The hackman drove up to a neat little bouse, of per- 
haps half a dozen rooms, whose front was bordered by a 
clever grassy plot. 

‘^This is de place, mothah,” said Laura, ‘Met me help 
yon out.” 

“You bab a cozy place be’eh. Ilab yon alwus lib’d 
lie’eh eber since’ you be married?” 

“Not ill dis same house; but we’s alwus libed in dis 
same town.” 

Laura escorted her mother up to and into the bouse. 
By the time tiiey weie truly witldn, Richard reached 
home. Very soon was the templing dinner spread, and 
never was meal better relished than that served at the 
Baxter cottage on this day (January 7, 1892). 

“Now,” said Laura, “ I know dat Fred’s an’ Jclin’s 
folks ’ll be crazy to see gran’ma, an’ she tliem, but know- 
ing dat she be ol’ an’ dat she’d be all tired out, I tol’ ’em 
(ley bettah not conie oveh till to-morrow'. So to-rnon-ow 
afternoon we’s all going to meet here foh a fam’ly reunion, 
an’ make a reception for gfan’ma. De girls be going 
to bake an’ bring oveh, an’ we’ll have a splendid time. 
Little Phelje is so anxious to see greaLgran’iua Phebe dat' 
they can’t hardly hoi’ ’er still.” 

“Oh, (lat‘11 be jes’ gran’!” said great-grandma Phebe. 
“I don’t see how I’s poss'bly goin’ to sleep a wink, til’ 1 
see ’em every one!” 

After dinner was over they put irreaf-grandtna Phebe to 
bed for a nap. Richard went to his barns to see how bis 
horses were getting along, and to get matters into running 
Older again. 


**fJ0N8in EH A TI0N8. 


19? 


street both Fred and John, who had comenp on business, 
and to see if their fatlier had returned. Mr. Baxter told 
them all he had' time to tell, but thought best that they 
do not see grandma till to-morrow. 

She is much excited,” said he, an’ needs quiet an’ 
rest to- night, but will be all right to-morrow. So all of 
you be siiali an’ come.” 

With the double assurance that we will,” they parted. 

Notwithstanding Phebe’s determination that she could 
not sleep, she did; and never was sleep so sweet to her as 
within the walls of the house of ‘^my boy.” Added to a 
long afternoon’s nap is a restful night, and January 8th 
finds her calm and rested. 

By dinner-time she is attired in her alpaca,” and im- 
patiently waiting the arrival of the boys and their wives 
and babies. 

In due time they are ^^all here,” and one by one are pre- 
sented to great-grandma Baxter, who greets them with 
tears and kisses, then kisses and tears. But, of course, 
little Phebe and baby Kichard outdo all the rest in her 
estimation, and most cordially does she own them as her 
•Mieirs.” 

With this glimpse into the Baxter home, on this 
reunion day, we are strictly forbidden, by the laws of 
right, to further intrude. Such meetings are too sacred 
for strange eyes to see or ears to hear. Thus, with the 
prospects of a gala-day before them, do we turn our backs, 
with the benediction, Peace be unto this house,” upon 
our lips. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Myrtle receives the following letter from Richard Bax- 
ter in due time: 

Patersox, N. J., Jan. 10, 1892. 

^^OuR Highly Esteemed Friend, Myrtle Stoney: 
Well, we afe back here, with mother Baxter, all safe and 
sound. After leaving you I went as fast as train could 
take me, and at a little past noon the next day arrived at 
Bonville. I had no trouble in finding the place. I first 
gained a consultation with your father, and without telling 


198 


‘HJONSIDKUA llONSr 


him my story ashed the privilege of seeing Phebe Baxter, 
which was granted. 

^‘1 talked with her for awhile about the name 'Baxter,’ 
and her work, etc. Finally I showed her the little hand- 
kerchief, and asked her if she ever saw it. She recognized 
it at once, and said: ‘Oh, it is my hoy!’ After a long 
talk, which consisted in recognizing and becoming ac- 
quainted, I told her how I had heard of hei', and that I had 
come to take her to toy home, etc. 

" Then we called in your father. I told him she was 
my mother, and that I wished to take her to New Jersey. 
He said she was most too old to do him much good anyway; 
so seemed quite pleased at the idea. 

" We at once got I’eady and took the early evening, or 
rather late afternoon train. 

“The next day after our arrival home we had a family 
reunion at my house, which we all enjoyed. ' Great-gran’- 
ma Phebe’ is delighted with her new home, and with the 
prospect of having a rest in her old age. 

“Come and see us. We will be so glad to see you. 
Mother sends her love, and says tell you she longs for the 
privilege of cooking you one more good meal. Come and 
she may do it. 

“With best wishes from all, we are your true friends. 

“ From Richard Baxter.” 


It was with much pleasure that ^lyrtle read this letter 
and answered it, assuring them that she would pay them a 
visit just as soon as she could spare the time. 

She is, if possible, more busily engaged than ever, and 
thus the time slips swiftly away. 

She wrote a long letter to Amelia, telling her all about 
Phebe’s deliverance, in which she (Amelia) is pleased to 
know she had a little to do. 

It is now about the middle of February, and the bleak 
weather enhances within her lone breast the many sad ex- 
periences through which she still is passing. Yet the fact 
of Pliebe’s emancipation is a great comfort to her. Still, 
if she should ever go back home (?) to live, how lonely it 
would be without Phebe. Many times each day do tllese 
vague thoughts pass through her mind, and especially is 
slu‘ engrossed on one Saturday evening as she sits shut 


••CONSIDER A TIONS. 


199 


ulone in her little restful corner at tiie close of a long, 
tedious week^s work. 

A sharp rap at the door startles her, and upon opening it 
the porter hands her a letter, postmarked iBonville.^^ 

Oh, these blessed lettei's! How could we live without 
them? And this is from Mrs. Jennings, too! The dear, 
good soul! She never tires of doing kindnesses.’^ 

It reads: 


'' Bonvtlle, Feb. 15, 1892. 

‘^My Dear Friend Myrtle: I have long intended 
writing you, but j^ou know my duties are many. I am 
now resolved to perform the one I owe you, in spite of any 
and all others. 

‘‘To begin, I wish to relate to you a few facts as con- 
cerns your father’s house; of course I know you will be 
most interested in this of anytliing. After Phebe left 
your father hired Jane Harper to act as cook for one year. 
I guess she does nicely; at least we hoar nothing to the 
contrary. 

“ But poor Joe! It is of him I wish to speak. I do pity 
him! A few days ago he came to our house and told liis 
story to the doctor and me. He said he was not well; that 
he would never be able to do the work for your father an- 
other year. His back is so lame that he is scarcely able to 
get up or down. He said he had asked your fatlier what 
he had better do, and he- gives him no consolation, only 
that if he cannot work he will be obliged to get some one 
who can. 

“ Said he had never offered to let him remain and do 
enough to pay his board; he could take the entire care of 
the horse and do many other chores that might pay his 
board. 

“He cried as he said: ‘I do not know where to go. I 
have a little money, but it is the hard earnings of years, 
and will not last long if I pay it out for board.’ 

“He asked me to write to you for him, asking what he 
had better do. AVe tried to arrange something for him, and 
we finally offered to let him come and stay with us. He said 
he could take care of the doctor’s horse and do something 
besides. He was so happy when we told him, that he hardly 
knew what to say. 

“He said he mis sad at leaving Chesterfield, He went 


200 '^CONSIDERATIOKSr 

and told your father that he might get another hanu as 
sooli as he liked. 

“ Mr.'Stoney then wanted liim to stay a few days until 
lie could get some one else, which he did. He has engaged 
Frank Fenn to do the work which Joe lias always done, 
and pays him twenty dollars per month. 

‘■‘Joe has been here a week, and is as happy as a king. 
He says, ‘ tell Myrtle I like my new home tiptop; am 
lonesome to see her though.^ 

We have promised to keep him for what he has if he 
gets so he cannot work. 

“ AVe are well, and the doctor is very bus3\ 1 visited 
Mrs. Maxwell a couple of weeks ago; she is able to do her 
work, and they are very hopeful and happy. They spoke 
many times of you and your kindness to them. Said they 
were now getting a few dollars ahead, and that things 
looked bright to them. 

One more thing, and the most important of all, is the 
report that your father is going to marry Miss AVebh, the 
milliner. DonT you think she and your aunt will make a 
team? Pauline is still there. AVe wish we could have a 
visit from yon. Do you go often to see my sister? I hope 
sometime to visit IS'ew York, mid intend to do so. How 
does Pliebe like her home? AVe have heard nothing from 
her since she left. I must close. AA'rite me all the news. 

From your sincere friends, and 

Susan Jennings. 

After reading this, a mixture of good and bad news, joy 
and sorrow. Myrtle cried by spells and laughed. To know 
of Joe^s good fortune was enough to make joy ring througli 
her whole soul. But to even think of her fathers mar- 
riage with Miss AAT'bb caused her intense grief. Y’et she 
must not hesitate to believe still that all things work to- 
gether for good to her, for she loves God and good. But 
how is it to those who love Him not? This is a sad 
question, which asks an answer of her. 

She so longs to see her father delivered fi'om these snares 
and pits, instead of becoming more and more involved. 
She well knows that if Miss AVebb marries him it is only 
for the purpose of getting a home and all the ^iroperty she 
can, and from no other motive. 

‘‘ Oh, when will my journey have an end,” said she. 


''OONSIDERA TIONS, 


‘^01 


throwing herself, prone upon her bed, to pour out the tears 
of grief over her father’s calami t\’, and of joy over the 
*‘glad tidings of salvation” to the Maxwells, Phebe 
and Joe. 

April again trips in witli her sunny smiles and joyous 
teardrops. Myrtle learns through Mis. Jennings of her 
father’s union witli Miss Webb, who is cutting a big 
dash now at Stoney Mansion.” 

‘MVell,” said she to herself, as she heard this, ^Met 
them dash. They will yet dash their feet against a stone.” 
This was said in a season of contempt and unsuppressilde 
wrath, as she stopped to realize the dear saci i flees that have 
been made at her home in the |)ersons of her niolliei-, 
Stephen, and the dear son of Joseph and Mary Maxwell, 
who had deluged Stoney Mansion with his blood. 

Cutting dashes,” with such things as these at stake, 
was a meager affair indeed, and well worthy the contempt 
of any person of sense. 

As the pleasant weather comes in Myrtle asks of Mr. 
Wiiite a furlough of three days (Sunday included), in 
which to pay a visit to the Baxters. 

Yes, you have been faithful and closely kept for most 
a year, and we will get along some way.” 

Myrtle, elateil with this prospect, works on until the first 
of May, which com^iletes her year at Woodland, when, 
early on Saturday morning she sets out for a visit to Pat- 
erson, N. J., expecting to stop off at Amelia’s on her way 
back. 

She has notified them of her coming, so of course 

numbali-one shape” is the one in which she expects to 
be received; and by no means are her expectations in vain. 
As she reaches the depot Bichard and Laura are there to 
meet her. 

Miss Stone}^” said he, you have no idea how very 
pleased we be to see you. Tiiis is my wife, Laura.” 

Laura Baxter gave her a most hearty recognition and 
welcome, as slie said: 

“Miss Stoney, I already feel well ’quainted wid you. I 
have heard Kichard an’ great-gran’ma Phebe talk of you 
so often. Come, let us go home. Great-gian’ma Phebe 
has cooked de di/inah all herself; she said slie mus’ get one 
meal foil you, so I let her.” 

“It seems very pleasant to meet such friends after being 


‘>02 ‘ • cox. SID DU A TIONS. 


so long away from home. I shall enjoy my visit, I know,” 
said Myrtle, as they all, according to her request, walked 
to the Baxter cottage. 

As they stepped upon the porch Phebe left her 
‘‘diimah,” and rushing out to meet them threw her arms 
around Myrtle, and it seemed like the meeting of mother 
and daughter. 

Do come in Myrtle! I hab bin so crazy to see you. It 
did seem dat 1 could not wait till I beam dat ol’ railroad 
engin’ toot. Oh, don’t dey hab splendid ways now ob 
carryin’ people on ’em! I did hab sech a easy an’ pritty 
ride obeli he’eh; but you mus’ ’xcuse me a minute or two, 
fob I’s gittin ob de dinnah. Laura said 1 might cook you 
one meal wid my own ban’s, so I did.” 

Myrtle, when within the tidy precincts of the Baxter 
home, feels the most at home she has for a year. To have 
Phebe once more a^l minister to her needs is indeed a 
luxury. 

The Baxter home is one where piety and true religion 
prevail in the extreme; that piety which maintains the 
greatest reverence for God, mingled with tender and inno- 
cent freedom for the love for one another, which always 
creates happy hearts and faces. The texts of the daily 
sermons preached here all border upon Love one 
another,” and “ Do unto others as you would have them 
do to you. ” 

Not only in the father’s house are these features dom- 
inant, but Myrtle finds the same atmosphere in the homes 
of the two sons as she visits them. 

However sweet it may be, the visit must also be short; 
for early Monday morning she must meet her engagement 
with Amelia. They all declare when that morning comes, 
and they must say good-by to Myrtle, that they have only 
had a glimpse of her, and hope some time to see her fairly. 

Myrtle felt sad at leaving such earnest friends, but afier 
pinning a beautiful wiiite neckerchief about dear old 
Phebe’s throat (the little gift she was pleased to bring 
her), and leaving a kiss, with not a few loving tears on 
her brow, she bid her good-by with the rest, never again 
to meet her this side of the river. 

The visit with Amelia is a sacred one, made especially so 
on. account of its brevity. She has time to dine and lunch 
with her friend, and well do they fill in the few hours 


•'GONSIDEUA TIONS: 


20.-> 

with visit. Myrtle rehites to her all the late news from 
Bonville, her own experiences at Woodland, and Amelia 
speaks often and long in tender sympatliy; she also has 
not a little to say about Mr. Dean’s being the best husband 
in the world, and Myrtle is not liard to convince of this 
when she studies his gentility, and matters and things 
about his home. 

At an early hour in the evening Myrtle took ‘the train, 
whicdi by bedtime landed her at the ferry, whose faithful 
seivice soon swei)t lier across the calm bosom of “ Gentle 
Eiver,’’ and once more she is within her own room at 
Woodland. 

Being questioned by the soldiers 'Mn regard to her 
visit, whether or no it was a pleasant one, many were the 
astonishments expressed at the possibility of having an 
enjoyable time in a “ colored family.” To these she re- 
spoiideil by dechirijig that slie was thoroughly convinced 
that many “ colored people ” had white souls, and that 
their hearts need not necessarily be black because their 
skin is. 

1 believe,” said she, the black people to be of the 
‘chosen’ of God, and that in due time he will prove 
it. Of course there are exceptions to them, as well as to 
the whites; they are not all perfect any more than we find 
ourselves, but 1 have always noticed this peculiarity about 
then: they ai'e exceptionally cheerful nnde?‘ adveisity and 
tribiihition, hopeful to the end, and religious. They arc 
childlike in their religion, but what. does the Saviour say: 
‘ Except 3^e become as little children, ye cannot enter the 
kingdom of heaven.’” 

“"^Yes,” said the doctor in reply to her words; “ they 
have been severely chastened, but this is only a sti’ong evi- 
dence tliat they are the beloved of God; for ‘ whom the 
Lord loveth, Tie chasteneth. ’ ” 

This last passage fell like the dew of heaven upon Myr- 
tle’s path, and for the first time* in her life her eyes were 
opened to the possibility that she, too, might be one of His 
favorites. She resolves here, in her own deep soul, nevei’ 
to “despise the chastening of the Almighty,” however 
severe that may be, for undoubtedly His chastisements aic; 
in proportion to His love, 

“The more I am called upon to suffer from His hand, 
the more assurance I have of His love for jne, in that H(! 


204 


•^considerations:* 


considers me more able and worthy to suffer than others. 
Blessed thought! I thank God that I am accounted wor- 
thy to suffer shame for His sake!^' 

With this consoling side ever foremost, Myrtle marches 
on and on, with no aspirations save only to do the will of 
God, who evidently has sought her out. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

The hot, sultry August is once more here, with its 
yoarly supply of little sufferers in’ the hospital, which 
greatly increases Myrtle^s cares and duties. It also brings 
many sad recollections to her mind on account of its being 
the anniversary of Stephen’s death. She is only too glad 
for plenty of work to divert her mind, so enters upon each 
day in the spirit of the Master. She goes out none, except 
for walks or out-of-door air, and occasionally to the 
Freeman’s. 

She does not mingle in society, simply because she can 
not enjoy it; and then her strength is jibout all consumed 
by her daily charge. Hence we find her very quiet and 
retired. T 

She one day receives a letter from Bonville; but cannot 
by the writing imagine wiio the writer can be, but the 
signature is that of “Pauline Fry.” Anxiously, and with 
much sadness of heart,*" she read the letter, which ran 
thus: 


“ Bonville, August 10, 1892. 

“ My Dear Myrtle: I suppose you will be very much 
surprised to get a letter from your old "servant,’ but you 
see I am still faithful to duty. 1 write the following to 
you, not from any real plsasuVe it gives me, but because I 
consider it a I’eal duty. 

“ You probably have heard of your father’s marriage 
with Miss Webb. Yes, they weie very suddenly married 
orie day at the i)ai-sonage, and she of course canie home 
with him. The first we knew of it he introduced her as 
‘ my wife.’ Hannah seemed delighted at the idea of hav- 
ing a sister; they were very intimate and Moving ’ for a 
while, but I can see by the atmosphere now that the wind 


^^GONBIBEUA TIONS. 


205 


has changed. I do not know of their having laid words, 
but they are not at all convei’sational, and aj)parently do 
not liave miudi to do with each other. ‘ Have agreed to 
disauree,' J guess. 

‘‘The present Mrs. Stoney is, in my estimation, a great 
calamity to the liouse, and all concerned. She does noth- 
ing but dress, and carry on the high- tide of society. She 
has hired a young girl-maid to attend her, and usually 
keeps lier busy. 

The present expenses of the house must be extravagant 
and enormous. He ])ays liis hostler and cook together 
nine dollars a week. I have iieard that he i)ays his head 
man ten dollars, and J am sure he pays the girl as many 
as two, and as you know I get two, you can estimate 
the ex[)enditures at the present time. Then to keep his 
wife and Hannah is by no means a light task. 

“ I also have one more sad feature to present to you. I 
think it is best that you know just how matters are run- 
ning, so you may be prepared to meet the worst when it 
comes, as 1 feel sure it will sooner or later. 

“Your father is too often and long over his wine-cup. 
He is a greater part of the tirne^so much under the in- 
fluence of drink that he is not competent to do business, 
and weall realize it. People are not asleep to the fact, and 
unless something is done he will go down, and all he has 
with him. 

“ I have heard it intimated that his wife does not intend 
to live with him, only until she gets as much as possible 
into her own hands. 

“Now I hope you wdll not blame me for telling you these 
things, and since it is the truth, you will consider it the 
favor to you which I intended it to be. I do it* wholly 
upon my own responsibility. Please say nothing about the 
step I have taken, for I am ttot a mischief-maker or tale- 
bearer, as you know, but I am your friend, as I always 
have been, hence have only done my duty, and am an 
‘ unprofitable servant.^ 

“ Do not write a reply to this directly to me, but if 
you can write me through Mrs. Jennings I shall be glad to 
hear from you. She^ feels very bad, for your sake, to know 
how matters are going. 

“ Joe is happy there; he is some better, but not able to 
do much. I wish I could see you. Love from 

“ Pauline FiiyP' 


206 


•^CONSIDER A TI0N8, 


The receipt of tliis letter was tlie cause of many serious 
and sad considerations in the mind of Myrtle, hut she is 
very grateful to Pauline for her interest and presence of 
mind, and, if possible, she seems more endeared to her 
than ever. 

Pauline is a very sensible woman of about fifty, and al- 
though by no means is she bound to the place or work, 
yet, being alone in the world, and entirely dependent upon 
her own exertions for a livelihood, has remained long and 
well at Stoney Mansion, ever faithful to duty, as we still 
find her. 

‘^Oh, what can I do! what shall I do?’^ are the ques- 
tions which Myrtle asks of herself over and over again. 

1 long to snatch father from his pit. I long to set him 
on high and keep him there. I so dread to know his 
property and Stephen’s hard earnings aye being squan- 
dered in this wise. But what can 1 do? Nothing. I am 
powerless to do a thing but ‘ take it to the Lord in 
prayer.’” 

Thus often do we see our poor lone exile on her knees, 
plea<ling that God will take care of all, and, if possible, 
sanctify even this disastrous condition of affairs, and in- 
asmuch as “evil must exist,” use it to the establishing of 
the long-run great and holy good. 

“ For right is right, since God is God, 

Then right the day must win; 

To doubt would be disloyalty, 

To falter would be sin,” 

Myrtle writes a reply to Pauline’s letter, and sends it to 
her via Mrs. Jennings, expressing her valuation of her 
thoughtTiilness in letting her know as she did. She freely 
expresses her deep sorrow at realizing the condition of 
affairs in lier dear, beautiful home, but at present she is 
unable to do anything only ask God to net as her agent. 

Time takes her along, and again the “ melancholy dnys” 
moan forth their sad dirges through the dried leaves and 
branches of the trees that inhabit the lawn at Woodland. 
Long hours at evening does she spend at her window, 
watching the sliowers of falling leaves^ sighing an accom 
panirnent to the strains that flow down through the bold 
lunbs, which spread themselves defiantly at the approaching 


*^(J()NSWERA TIONS:' 207 

, Old ocean tlrrows up his maddened foam as if lie, in 
accordance with all nature, were rebellious. 

Oh/^said she, as one day she sat dreamily endeavoring 
to decipher the great problem of life, ‘Miow sweetly did 
He speak and it was done. Eveii Hhe wind and tlie waves 
shall obey my will.’ Like as He stilled 'the trou bled waters 
of the sea cannot God send His ])eaceful spirit into my soul 
and calm its turbulency? May His spirit not once again 
move upon the great dark ocean of life and calm it?*’ 

Here her thoughts pick up the completion of the 
beautiful stanza, and she warbles it forth in tune; 

“ He plants His footsteps on tlie sea, 

And manages tlie storm.” 

Once and forever she finds herself reconciled; willing to 
do her part as fast as it is made plain to her, and to sutler 
any and all that He, in His mercj^ and love, sees fit to 
bring upon he*', trusting in the eventual pi'evalence of 
Right; which is the will of God. 

The new year brings to her eveit more deplorable news 
from home. Stoney Mansion is altogether too small for 
Mrs. Stoney and Hannah; so, in older to keep peace at all, 
Mr. Stoney has been obliged to set his sister in a tiny house 
on a small lot in town, and she, after furnishing it with as 
many things as she could coax, beg or steal from her 
brother, has gone to 'Mive alone.” 

Mr. Stoney is still deeper in wine and wages. Another 
liand has been hired in the store, and the proiirietor is the 
greater part of his time over his pipe or mug. 

The latest re})ort ftom the gossiper is that Mrs. Stoney 
has applied for a divorce, on the ground that he prefers the 
wine-cup to her; and lie had openly declai’ed, one day when 
in a frenzy, that he wished he had never seen her face, and 
'that she might go to the d — 1 for all he cared. 

She has concluded that fifteen thousand dollars will set 
her right and make her as good as irew, and restore to her 
the long-honored name of" “ AV ebb.” The court has de- 
cidetl that ten thousand dollars will be a fair sum to atone 
for damages and pay tlie little spider for spinning her 
silken “ web ” so nicely. 

Mr. Stoney is not dilatory in taking advantage of cir- 
cumstances and ridding himself from the “ web,” and 


208 


‘ ‘ CO NSW ERA TIONS. 


even congratulates liimself on being more'fortuwate than 
most of the poor little flies who become entangled. . “ ’ •' 

Myrtle feels almost like retaliating by telling the little 

bought wit story, but refrains. Still she is unable to 
raise a hand, as it were. Resigned! yes, resigued! “ Take 
up thy cross; follow' me."” 

About the time she received this news from home, she is 
told by Mr. White that her services as matron of Wood- 
land will be highly valued. She appreciates the call, 
partly on account of its standard, and partly on account 
of the live dollars additional in salary. Yet if sheacce[)ts, 
she knows it will be at a sacrifice of the present matron, 
both as to credit and money. What had she better do? 
She asks a day or so in which to decide, and in the mean- 
time goes to the only accessible liiother she has, Mrs. Free- 
man, for counsel. 

‘‘ Certainly I should accept the position, said Mrs. 
Freeman, upon being consulted. “ You have in no way 
tried to undermine the matron. You did not apply for 
the position, and if it comes to you in this way, it simply 
proves your trustworthiness and superiority. Accept it by 
all means. 

After this kind and sensible advice. Myrtle told the pro- 
prietor that if he would, in the presence of the matron, 
plainly state his preference, and assure her that her calling 
to the seat was strictly one of his own, that she would ac- 
cept the position. This he at once agreed to do, and exe- 
cuted the matter when the proper time came. The matron 
took the matter apparently quite cool, but she evidently 
was not surprised, so no serious results could well come 
from it. 

At the close of the interview the matron declared her 
intentions of leaving \Yoodland for a similar position 
in another field. Thus it is settled that Myrtle Stoney 
is to preside as matron of Woodland for the ensuing year, 
at a salary of twenty-five dollars per month. 

The “ soldiers cast, once in a while, a superstitious 
glance at her, but evidently by this time they have learned 
that such things do not kill, only puncture a bit, so are a 
little spare of their vain criticisms. 

One may as well undertake to bind the universe as to 
shackle liberty in her course, as she speedily follows the 
pointings of her All- wise Designer. 


) 


*^COXSIDbJllA TIONS." 


209 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Miss Stois^ey takes; her place as matron, and it only re- 
quires a short time in the service to prove lier superiority 
over her predecessoi’, who has gone to another place. 
Myrtle soon finds that she has lived to realize the fiiltill- 
inent of the promise, Until I make thine enemies tliy 
footstool; for all have surrendered, from the least even 
unto the greatest.^^ 

Miss Day still carries a dejected sort of countenance 
when Ereil Hastings dares to send up his card to Myrtle 
(which lie does as often as Myrtle and propriety will 
allow), but evidently the lion^s mouth is stopped. 

March has again come, bringing with him his dirge of 
direful winds, which bespeaks a sad memorial, even the 
funeral anniversary of her dear mother, wlio, two years 
ago, left Stoney Mansion for a home on high. 

For this reason alone the season is an exceptionally sad 
one, even if all nature did not unite to make it thus. She 
still gets word, one way and another, of the havoc which 
is being played in her home. Hannah goes there and stays 
as long as she and Mr. Stoney can get along without com- 
ing to blows, then goes back to her house and lot to recu- 
perate and regain a reinforcement. The hands in the 
store are becoming fraudulent, and taking advantage of 
Mr. Stoney and his spells, and add to their own wel- 
fare in any way they see tit. Custom is growing less, on 
account of the carelessness of management, etc. 

Myrtle feels that now, for the first time, there exists an 
opening for her to ap[)roach her father, and so concludes 
to act accordingly; giving him an opportunity of redeem- 
ing himself in her regard, and perhaps to the woi’ld, and 
a merciful God. After long and conclusive considera- 
tions, she ventures to pen the following to her father: 

Woodland, Adelaide St., ) 
‘^Xew York, Marcli 5, 1893.) 

My Dear Father: I have heard from various 
quarters of your misfortunes ami the troubles you are hav- 
ing, or have had. You have no idea how sad I feel for 
you, and it is on account of my grief in the matter that I 
write you. 


210 


“CON.sJDMiATIOyS. 


I do not know as I shall be able to alleviate in any way, 
blit if you think 1 can, do not hesitate to let me know, 
and 1 will do all in my power. I have been promoted liere 
to the position of matron, and am getting my twenty-five 
dollars per month regularly. 

I have saved nearly all my wages here, and am doing 
well. 1 enjoy the work in the present position, even better 
than on the wards. 

I am very sorry to hear of your wife's desertion and un- 
faithfulness, but suppose, for some deep, unknown reason, 
it is all for the best, as we are told ‘ all things work together 
for good.^ Jt is sometimes very hard to see good as coming 
from such bitter sources, but perhaps, if we trust long 
enough, we shall. Once more offering my services to you 
in a daughter’s faithfulness, I am as ever, your own 

‘'Daughter, Myrtle. 

" Please write to me, 1 long to hear from you.” 

She carefully asked divine benediction and blessing 
upon what seemed to her us her last efforts to restore her 
father’s contidence, and to save him from the pit. Then, 
dropping the letter into the post-box, she “ simply trusted 
evei-y day,” as to the outcome. 

Weeks glide by, with no word directly from her father; 
but through Pauline she learned that her father had 
talked more of her of late — once had even been heard to 
say: "1 believe I will have to call on Myrtle yet.” 

This inspired within her an enthusiasm for prayer and 
supplication in his behalf, and hope beat a bit in her 
bosom. 

About the middle of April she received a letter from 
Kichard Baxter, as follows: 

"Paterson, K. J., April 13, 1893. 

"Our Dear Friend, Myrtle Stoney: I write you 
to-day the sad news of my mother’s death— sud did’l say? 
No, we cannot call it sad: for a happier soul never broke 
its bonds than hers. She was sick only two days, and 
during that time she did nothing but teach 'her boy,’ his 
children, and their child reti, admonishing them to stand 
firm in the faith, for she knew the Lord was coming to 
deliver his chosen people. 

"At the last, she said: ‘ Fs only goin’ to sleep a whil’ 


*'CONSIDERA TIONS. 


211 


to wake np on dat blessed mornin\ Tell Myrtle Pll be 
dar wid at leas’ one geni fob her crown.’ Then bidding 
ns all a loving mother’s goo<l-by, she went over the river, 
wliere 1 know she is wailing for ns all. 

“ With the beanliful neckerchief pinned about her 
throat, and in a robe of white, we have laid her away. I 
tliank God that in these ‘latter days’ I was permitted to 
administer to inv dear, long-lost mother, and close her 
eyes in death. We shall miss her, but take courage from 
her exhortations to strive even harder for that ‘rest which,’ 
we feel sure, ‘remaineth to the people of God.’ Write to 
us, and come and visit us if you can. 

“ AVe are as ever, your true friends, 

“ Laura and Richard Baxter.” 

This letter, although being a surprise, was a sweet, sad 
evidence of Christianity, and touched all the tender cords 
of her love, strengthening her already firm faith. 

Not many days after its perusal, a letter came to her 
from Pauline, which ran thus. 

“ My Dear Myrtle: Your father is sick, and confined to 
his room. He sits up but little, and something must be 
done. AVe have got Joe to come back and do what he can 
out of doors, so as to let the hand help take care of Mr. 
Stoney. Hannah is here part of the time, but only finds 
fault, aJid makes it almost impossible for any of us to 
stay in the house. 

“ I spoke to your father about sending for you, but he 
seemed indifferent in the matter; but to tell the truth, he 
is not himseif more than half of the time. He has reached 
that stage where strong drink does not quench his fiery 
thirst, and whatever will become of him 1 do not know. 

“ I wish you would come home! You are the only one 
who can right tlie wrongs, and I do not know as you can. 
1 1 seems as if we had never seen a minute of peace since 
Hannah came here. AVliat shall we do? Write soon., 

“ Truly your friend, 

“Pauline Fry.” 

This letter was read on the 18th day of April, and as 
soon as an interview with Mr. AATiite could be had. Myrtle 
told him of her father’s sickness, and what seemed to her 


212 ‘ * CONSIDER A TIONS.^^ 

her duty toward him. Could he and would he release 
her? 

Mr. White was far from being ready to do this, and 
said he did not know where in the world to look for a sub- 
stitute. However, after a few days of searcli and plan- 
ning, he concluded to give the head nurse the stand, and 
fill her place with a new and inexperienced hand, which 
he succeeded in procuring. So it w'as decided quite satis- 
factorily, yet much to the sorrow of Mr. White, that Myr- 
tle might go as soon as the hand became partially 
initiated. Three days later Myrtle made ready for her 
home-bound trip. 

Thus does it come to pass, that on May 1, 1893, Myrtle 
bids adieu to the host and hostess, doctor and “soldiers'^ 
of Woodland; and, not forgetting her respects to the Free- 
mans, she starts for Bonville. 

She does not let any one there know' she is coming, but 
goes in very quietly and unexpectedly. Pauline discovers 
her at the door, and a long and friendly embrace atonesfor 
all the sad hours spent in parting. 

“ Oh, Myrtle, I am so glad you have come! Your 
father will probably not treat you wdth any great amount 
of cordiality, but do not mind it. Just let it go, only 
stay with us! Myrtle, I have tried to keep things togeiher, 
as best I could, but no doubt you will see much about your 
home distasteful to you. Hannah acts so, that it is imjios- 
sible to keep anything together.” 

‘‘ Never mind, Pauline, you are a truly good servant, 
and have stood at your post through thick and thin. You 
w'ill yet have your reward on earth.” 

Myrtle stole quietly to her room, after w'arning Pauline 
to say nothing to any one of her arrival. Many were the 
heartaches she experienced, as she saw not only hers, but 
her mothePs ami Stephen’s rooms in utter confusion; the 
work of crafty fingers. But this is not a time to lament 
over trifles, when the life and future happiness of her 
father is at stake! So speedily making a new toilet she 
went at once to the kitchen in search of Joe. 

'‘Why, Myrtle Stoney! Has the very dead ris; or 
whereM you come from? You true-hearted, valiant soldier 
of the cross! You are yit ready and willin’ to do your 
part!” As Joe said this he grasped her by the hand, "and 
tlid not cease shaking until he had finished speaking. 


'^CONSIDEUATIONS. 


213 


‘‘I heard of fatlier^s sickness, so gave up my place, and 
came to do what I can for him.” 

^'It’s a blessed good ide’ you did! I never did see sech 
tarnal works ^s bin a*goin' on here sence you left. We are 
all on us mos’ crazy! However and ever the same, he's 
most miglity glad to git old Joe back to do a chore or two, 
when he can't do no better.'' 

“ Yes, Joe, there are none more faithful than you. Did 
you know Phebe is dead?” 

Phebe dead! Why, no! For gracious' sake, no! 
When on earth did she die, an' what for?” 

Myrtle took Mr. Baxter's letter from her pocket and read 
it to him and Pauline. They wept many sad, yet joyous 
tears over the poor old martyred soul which had thus so 
sweetly overcome'' and broken its shackles. 

1 never can forget,” said Pauline, the day she left 
she sto[)ped to fix lier last batch of bread for the oven, lest 
I should let it sour — after she was all ready for her 
bonnet.” 

Myrtle told tliem of her visit there, and with much in- 
terest they noted it all down. 

Well, J guess I will go now and see father. Pauline, 
you go in first and tell him, as carefully as you can, that I 
am here and ready to see him if he is to see me.” 

Pauline did as commanded. As she stepped into the 
room Mr. Stoney was sitting by the grate, for it was a 
damp, cool day. She said: 

Mr. Stoney, your daughter is here and says she would 
like to see you.” 

My daughter! Myrtle! What brought her here? It 
can’t be so! You are honest, are you?” said he, eying 
her as if to find in her a look of deception. 

“ Yes, sir; she came about two hours ago, unexpected 
by us all. I am in earnest.” 

Well, you tell her to wait till I get rigged 'round here 
in shape, and then she can come in.” 

The man proceeded to establish Mr. Stoney in the easiest 
chair, and to change his dressing-gown for a more comely 
one, and succeeded quite well in making liim look comfort- 
able. 

As Myrtle was led into the room by Pauline (Mr. Stoney 
made a desperate effort to brace up by taking an extra 
glass just before), she was horror-struck to behold the 


2 14 **C0N8JDERA TIONS:' 

bloateil face and body of her reprobate parent. Bnt going 
up to !iiin in her usual unpretending manner, slie grasped 
liis liand and lay a tender kiss upon the red and agitated 
temple. 

“ Fatlier, I am so sorry yon are sick.^^ 

Mr. Stoney was so overcome with ti'.e effects of drink 
and self-condernnatioi.i, that he found himself unable to 
say a word for a minute or so; finally, he said in a low, in- 
articulate voice: 

“ \Vl»at started you here?^' — He did not say home. 

^‘Because I heard of your sickness, I started myself. 
Truly it would have been a very strange kind of a daughter 
that \Vould not have come to take care of a si(d< fatlier. 

^‘Hem! I am not the sickest ever was; and, besides, 
have a good nurse here.” 

“ Well, that makes no difference. I am a daughter, and 
can do for you as no one else can. I have had ninch ex- 
perience in sickness since I liave been away, and feel a lit- 
tle bit self-confident in this direction. 

As well as in many others, he muttered at her, with 
the old-time glance from the corners of his. eyes. 

Yes,^^ said she, laughing. Now, father, you must 
be a little tender of me even yet. You know 1 am unable 
to endure a great deal of that kind of treatment, and beg 
of you to begin with moderation.'^ Myrtle laughed as she 
said this, and her laughs ever after served as a shield 
against any and all of his attacks. 

Well, Myrt, there has been some changes since — within 
the last two years," said he. 

Yes, many. I find there are changes every where, and 
at all times. I have recently heard of Phebe’s death." 

Have you?” 

Yes; she died about the middle of last month." 

Mr. Stoney made no inquiries after his old cook, and 
seemed inclined to change the subject, as he said: 

'‘You look qiiite well." 

"Yes; I have been ^in good health all along. Well, 
father, 1 will not tire you out. I will come in again, in a 
short time. Is there anything I can do for you before I cfo 
out?" 

"Oh, no. I don't need much care." 

Myrtle left him, and took a long lonely stroll over the 
great forsaken hou.^e, and in the yard. After a short walk 


‘ • CO NSW NJiA TlONS. ’ 


2 if. 

ill the latter, she returned to the parlor, and commenced 
restoring things to their usual places of order and regular- 
ity. Many, many things so choice to her were not to be 
setm at all; but she substituted for them the next best; so, 
in the course of a short time, she caused the room to 
resume even an old-time appearance. 

Ere the close of the day, Hannah, entirely ignorant of 
the presence of Myrtle, ])ut in her appearance, evidently for 
the pnr[)Ose of replenisiiing her larder, for she liad a huge 
basket on her arm as she sauntered into the hall. First 
swinging herself ai-ound in the parlor a few times, to see 
who or what had opened it up in such a manner — when 
told by Pauline that Myrtle is here, and did it herself — guess 
she had a right to — she made a sort of a surprised' com- 
ment upon the matter, and hastening to the kitchen filled 
her basket with the best she could find; covering it over 
tightly with heavy papers, she set it behind the open 
front door, so that she might be able to get it conveniently 
when she was ready to-go. 

“ 1 guess I will have to go in and see Thomas a minute,^’ 
said she to herself. Making her way to the room, she 
abruptly opened and forced herself into a chair by his side. 

Did you know Myrtle was coming?’^ 

^^No; none of us knew it. She came unexpectedly to 
us all.^’ 

Do you want her here?” 

Oh, I don’t know what I do want. I may be obliged to 
Myrtle yet; I cannot tell. I am in a bad shape. I don’t 
kiiow what in the d is ever going to become of me.” 

Mr. Stoney was much given to profanity when in the 
worst stages of ad versity, and freely expressed himself by 
its use. 

Well, it’s no more than I expected,” said Hannah. 
•* I reckoned she’d crawl back in due time. Didn’t I tell 
you so? It has turned out just as I expected.” 

Now don’t, ft»r gracious sake, begin your row-de-dow 
to-day. I feel as if the devil had got me now; and if you 
begin on nte I shall be assured of it.” 

Apparently Hannah felt the full force of this “compli- 
ment,” for she at once took her leave and started for the 
hall; as she was entering it she met Myrtle face to face. 

“For mercy’s sake,” said she, “what did you^come 
buck for? Got enough of independence, I trust, eh?” 


C0N81DKIiA no NS. 


•216 

came back to do for my father.,^'' 

« . guess your father would not have suffered for want 
of care. Tiiey say ^even a poor excuse is far better than 
none.^^’ 

It makes no difference; I am here and expect to stay. 
Myrtle put a stress upon the last word, which was sufficient 
to mellow Hannah a bit, and she then I'elented enough to 
say: 

It may be better that you came; especially for you. 
I suppose you have seen some pretty hard times since you 
left the nest.'’^ 

I have pi’obably suffered less than I should had I re- 
mained here. I left a good jdace and salary behind rne.’^ 

Oh, yes; that is just what all of these prodigal sons 
and daughters say when they i-eturn. It is always a 
mystery to me that they ever come back when tlie Avorld 
treats them so lovingly and well.’^ 

Here Myrtle bowed a slight enough of this/'’ and turned 
to go into the parlor; as she did so she heard Hannah 
say: 

I have got a few of my things in my basket, is all,’^ at 
the same time drawing it from its secludedbehind-tlie door 
retreat. 

Myrtle knew as well as she cared to know what “few 
things'’^ she had in her basket, so did not stop to parley 
witn her or comment. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Myrtle watches proceedings at the store as much as slie 
possibly can, and without asking permission makes a dailv 
survey of the cash-books, and keeps herself as well posted 
as her time and strength will allow. Siie has such a com- 
manding, yet gentle way, that the clerks do not care to 
say much in opposition. Only once did they attemj)t it, 
and then she simply replied by telling the plain truth 
whieh, as it is always sui*e to do, conquered the wrong: 

“ It is my privilege and duty to keep myself informed 
in regard to the business.*’ 

Mr. Stoney continued to sink deeper and deeper into 
the depths of his wine and bed. 


•*CONSIDERA TIONS. ” iil7 

Myrtle could see that be was so firmly within the 
clutches of the monster that nothing hut death could ever 
break his tendrils. She offered many an urgent prayer 
that God would speedily sever it, and take from her view 
the deplorable face and form of a father — now having be- 
come a disgraceful abomination to all witnessing, and if 
it were possible that He would forgive his lifelong sin. 
She continued to administer daily to his comforts, and to 
do all in her power to relieve him; but she saw, not far in 
advance, the end; and with eager and anxious thoughts 
for the welfare of his soul did she watch and wait. 

She often thought to speak to him upon the question; 
but he was so directly under the influence of the evil 
spirit that she sensibly reasoned thus: '‘If he still has a 
soul alive, it is so influenced and diseased by the wrong as 
to be unable to express or manifest itself.^' So all she 
could do was to make him as comfortable as possible, and 
trusting God await the dreaded end. 

One day she got a glimpse of his private desk key in his 
pocket, and realizing that it might fall into crafty hands, 
slipped it into her own pocket, where she kept it safe. 

It has reached the third week in May; sweetly do the 
soft winds, freighted with the odors of spring, endeavor to 
fan comfort and refreshment into the sick-room, but in 
vain; alas! a soul — dead in sin! Oh, what Eden can ever 
restore or breathe divine love and freedom into it. How 
merciful the exhortation to "remember thy Creator in 
the days of thy youth.” The days of grace sinned away! 
The salt having lost its savor, wherewith shall ye be 
salted? 

Nothing but the fierce writhings from beneath, and the 
fiery wave of death, " the wages of sin,” can satiate such 
a thirst! Thus do they administer the element, which adds 
coal upon coal, and flame upon flame, until bursting forth 
in the maddened spasmadic convulsions Avhich tell of the 
approaching end, does Thomas Stoney grumble out his 
dying curses to God and all mankind. Oh, how truly 
hath it been said: 

“ But the hand of God will not relent, 

Toward a life in idle ungodliness spent. 

Happy is he who doth not condemn 
Himself, in the Day of Judgment to men,” 


218 


‘'CONSIDEliA TIONSr 


Toward the end, a few days prior, Myrtle withdraws en- 
tirely from the room and goes into the store, in order that 
there may be a reinforcement in the sick-room, which is 
now necessary, and to rid lierself of the terrible scene. 

About 3 P. M. on the 25th of May the man came into the 
store, and stepping up to Myrtle, said: 

It is over! Your father is no more!’’ 

Of all the trials in her life this one was the hardest. She 
felt very sad at her mother and Stej;)hen leaving her, even 
for a home in heaven; but of her grief for the father there 
was no end. She felt sure of reuniting with the others in 
the Better Land; but, her father! oh, where is he? 

God help the poor little soul to comfort herself in the 
only possible way by remembering: 

“It must needs be that evil come,” and that “it is 
well,” even yet. 

According to Myrtle’s wish there was a very quiet funeral 
of Thomas Stoney from the residence. There was no ser- 
mon preached, except the one he had preached by his life, 
whose fitting text would be “The way of the transgressor 
is hard.” With a pi-ayer and song does the only child and 
few friends follow him to his grave. He is laid by the side 
of a poor, heart-broken wife to await the summons from on 
high, at which call “all that are in their graves shall come 
forth.” 

In that judgment we have no voice, but leave him in 
the hands of the Judge of all the earth, whose judgments 
are altogether just and righteous. 

Iliinnah once more puts on her crape and melancholy 
face, and well may she, for ’riiomas Stonev has never given 
her a title to the “dear little house and lot.” She has 
many times tenderly approached him on the subject and 
assured him that she would be so glad if he only would do 
it, but the only consolation she ever got from him v/as: 

“You rnay'better be thankful for a place to stay, and 
ought to let that stop your noise.” 

Therefore does Hannah mourn for two reasons. 

Myrtle at once begins quiet but earnest investigations of 
her father’s estate. 

She commences business on a very economical scale by 
dismissing the hostler and retaining joe. She retains the 
head man and clerk in the store, and takes the old stand 
herself. 


^^CONSWEUA nON8. 


219 


'Pauliue is engaged, and encouraged by an increase in 
wages, to take the entire charge of the house, and Jane 
Harper still stands at the cook-stove. 

So she has lessened the expenses nearly half. Sl»e in- 
tends to sell out the store as soon as she can find a reliable 
purchaser and can make the arrangements. 

Wlien in dne time Hannah “crawls back to ask her 
what and how much she can have, Myrtle says to her: 

“ Yon can have the use of the place you are now on as 
long as yon hold your peace and I know that you are 
working as much as yon are able to maintain yourself.'^ 

“ Why, Myrtle Stoney! 1 am not able to work, and you 
know it!” 

“No, I do not know it or think it! I believe you are 
able to do quite a considerable, and when I am satisfied 
that you are not, then I may do something for you. But, 
Hannah Springer, I am going to give yon a good chance to 
prove yourself.” 

Myrtle said this with such earnestness that Hannah well 
knew slie meant it. 

“ Well,” said she in reply, “what would you have me 
do.^^” 

“Anything you like.” 

“Have you anything I can do?” 

“No, nnJani; not at [)reseiit. My house is henceforth a 
house of peace, so what you do you will have to do under 
the other roof. If 1 can furnish you any work there I 
shall be glad to do so.” 

Hannah gave a deep sigh, and said with a tienibling 
voice: “ Well, it is very hard for one at my years to be cas'. 
out upon the world and compelled to work hai'd and rely 
upon one’s own strength, especially such feeble streiiglh 
as mine.” 

“I have not cast you out. You have cast yourself out 
by doing as you have. Yon now have a chance to prove 
to me the truth: that you have been and still are able to 
work. I do not imagine I shall ever see you suffer for 
something to eat, but it isyoui- duly to do all you can for 
yourself. Yon have never ceased to make strife and con- 
tention in our home since the day you entered it, and 1 
wish to assure you now and forever, once for all, that such 
conduct from you is at an end. 1 speak plainly, but that 
is the way to speak.” 

Hannah is left to draw her own conclusions, and under 


i>20 ‘ ‘CON SIDE U A TIDE'S. " 

the circumstances she evidently must do the best she can. 
She is not entirely free from self-condemnation, for well 
does she know that every and all helps from Myrtle will 
only heap the coals of fire upon her head. So she, much 
to her humiliation, advertises to do plain sewing and 
mending for the public. 

Myrtle appointed Doctor Jennings as her adviser, and 
the one who is to assist lier in getting the estate settled, 
and as to determining the real value of the same. 

Slie felt anxious to know the exact state of affairs, that 
she might better realize the breadth of her margin and her 
capabilities. 

They one day opened the private desk, containing pa- 
pers, etc,, and after a careful survey and reckoning, find 
his bank stock and notes to be in the neighborhood of one 
hundred tlionsand dollars; this is all well seemed, and 
therefore safe. Fifty thousand dollars is i?i vested in 
houses and lots in town. The place, not including store, 
cost about one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in its 
day, but as real estate has depreciated so much in value, 
and the furniture has of course reduced to one-third its 
original value, so it is doubtful if she can estimate this at 
one hundred thousand. 

An invoice in the store proves that there are about ten 
thousand dollais worth of stock, and the block may be 
placed at about the same. So Myrtle Stoney is to-day 
worth about two hundred and seventy thousand dollars. 

She has decided to run matters in this careful way for a 
time, until she can dispose of the store. She then hopes 
to turn her attention to other things. 

Thus for one year does she handle herself and all her in- 
terests — with Hannah in the rear— admirably. But, on 
account of her liberal it}’, and the constant cry of ‘Miard 
times ” from every quarter, she finds herself not far in ad- 
vance, financially, at the close of the year. 

However, she has found a buyer for the store and its be- 
longings, soil! relief does she surrender her work and in- 
terests there to other hands, and receives the full value. 

Thus far free, she finds the first of the following 
May (1894) a welcome, invigorating month, wherein she 
purf)oses to rest in the quiet of her home, and regain the 
lost supply of physical and nerve force occasioned, during 
the last year especially, by care and anxieties. 


221 


yoNSWEBA TIONS:' 

‘ • Hanmih hcTs now no free access to the store, neither has 
she to Myrtle’s store-room. So. she finds tliat the needle 
can fiy with even greater rapidity than it did in the be- 
ginning, when short rations are thinibling it througli. 

Myrtle by no means leaves her to siitfer, and many are 
the good meals furnished her and clothing sent, as her 
best judgment calls it fortli. Thus every day does she 
heap “ coals of fire” upon the head of her antagonist. 

Oh, why need we, in seeking revenge, go farther than to 
fee 1 the enemy when he hungers, Jind give him drink 
when he thirsts? This is the right kind of revenge, and 
tile one which never fails to conquer even the worst 
of foes. 

Although many and deep are the sighs of the trio of 
Stoney Mansion for those who are now in glory, sighs only 
because of the emjity places they have left, and the loneli- 
ness which their departures have occasioned. Yet many 
are the pleasant interviews during this beautiful May 
upon the piazza — Joe has redoubled rights here now — of the 
th ree. 

Jane Harper is yet considerably interested in the 

chicken-coop,” more so than in the piazza of Stoney 
Mansion, so she spends her spare time surveying its 
premises. 

Often do these pleasant interviews include Mrs. Stoney, 
Stephen and Phebe', and with much inspiration and courage 
do they read over, occasionally, the letter bearing her dy- 
ing benediction, which they all feel free to share. What 
a sermon it was. Wide and long enough to cover the 
world. No pulpit ever poured out such eloquence or theo- 
logical truths as did dying Phebe, on her back looking into 
the face of God and ail heaven, as she calmly declared: 

‘‘ Fs only goin’ to sleep awhile, to wake up on dat 
blessed mornin’.” 

“ Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep, 

From which none ever wake to weep; 

A calm and undisturbed repose, 

Unbroken by the last of foes.” 

At the conclusion of one of these long and happy talks 
upon the piazza does Myrtle seek the i>arior, and pour out 
this sweet melody in song accompanied by the piano, and 


222 


CONSIDER A no NS. ” 


before it closed even Joe ventured to join his heav^ voice 
quite harmoniously. Yes, Joe; you may sing! I^oiie of 
Jesus’ followers are so unimportant that they may not tune 
their harps and voices to join in the jubilee which shall 
resound through all heaven, when “ on dat blessed morn- 
ing” Phebe awakens from her quiet sleep to place the gem 
in the crown of her deliverer. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

At home! in the mansion which her heavenly parent 
has provided for her, does Myrtle justly merit, and “ enter 
into that rest which remainetli to the people of God,” and 
which every warrior in behalf of peace, justice and right, 
will in time inherit. 

“ There is sweet rest at home.” 

Yes, the home where Freedom, Love and Mercy abide, is 
the only place on earth to which the weary pilgrim may 
direct his steps in the hope of resting his aching head and 
cooling his parched lips. It is here tlie prodigal son” is 
welcomed and the ^‘fatted calf” is slain. It is here that 
the cup of cold water always stands in readiness to give 
drink, even to the adversary, and the table always has ;i 
chair set ready to feed the hungry. It is here the sick at 
heart come, to have it bound by the tender touch of love. 
Here, too, do the sick of divers diseases ” stray, to bo 
healed by only a touch at the beautiful garment which 
drapes the form of Pity. It is here that the theological 
student — even Fred Hastings — longs once more to ‘‘ enter 
in,” and yield up all his long extended course to the simple 
teachings of Truth. ^‘Do right and fear not!” 

Such is the stay of our heroine, as she, from her throne 
of justice, wields the scepter over those who come under 
lier influence. 

A monarch? — yes. Absolute? — yes. “ Why?” you ask. 
Because Right is might. Xo tyranny here. No despotism 
here. For Peace, from her throne of glory, rules. 

'*He that goeth forth and weepoth, bearing precious 


“ COXSID ERA TIG NS. ” 223 

seed, shall doubtless come again witli rejoicing, bringing 
his sheaves with him.” 

She went for Right, she stayed for Right, she did Right, 
she returned for Right, and now it is Right. 

“ It is well.” 

“ Live forever, thou queen of saints.” 


THE END. 







rlV* . 
. 





















LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



00D]i47t,fiflb5 



